


Starting Over

by Primed58



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Adult Content, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bondage, Drugged Sex, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Mental Instability, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Primed58/pseuds/Primed58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marion Hawke makes a big mistake when she takes the bribe from Lord Friedrich instead of killing him alongside his men as Meeran had asked.  Six months later, Meeran is back, and Hawke will learn what it will cost to keep Bethany safe from the Gallows</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I was always interested in pursuing the obvious interest from Meeran when he meets Marion Hawke, and what would happen if the interest ends up being mutually beneficial, at least at first.

Marion Hawke listened with a sinking heart as her uncle explained that there was no money, and no estate to help them get into Kirkwall. They had landed here three days ago after a tumultuous sea crossing; they were all tired, broke, heart sore, and out of choices. Uncle Gamlen finished by explaining that they could get into the city, provided they worked for a year to clear the debt.  
Flanked by her younger sister Bethany, and their new friend Aveline, she glanced at her mother, who looked quickly away and pasted herself to her Gamlen’s side the moment he had arrived. She and her mother had not spoken since she had laid the guilt of Carver’s death upon her. Marion felt the loss of her little brother keenly, killed quickly at the hands of the darkspawn. She should have stayed closer to their mother, let Carver take point, should have reacted faster to break the ogre’s hold before he could slam Carver into the ground, snapping his neck with an audible crack.  
Aveline had lost her husband Wesley as well, from a darkspawn tainted wound, mercifully ending his life with a dagger straight to his heart. She did not know Aveline well enough, in fact they had only met a few hours before, and while Aveline maintained a stoic outer shell, Marion was sure that she had not made it here with all of her intact either.  
“So, your big idea is to sell us into indentured servitude?” She threw that out to her uncle when no one else reacted.  
“Think of it as having a job in your new home!” His brown eyes narrowed as he continued. “You will not find a better deal for a bunch of Ferelden refugees, believe me.” Her uncle seemed a bit shifty, a little too quick with a questionable solution from his “contacts”. He certainly did not look the noble born man he was, his hair cut crude and uneven, he probably did it himself. His clothes were the same as any laborer, nothing but solid cloth, jerkin and leather belt, non-descript browns that matched his brown eyes. His face was deeply lined around the eyes and mouth, frown lines prominent between his brows as though the fellow was perpetually unhappy about something.  
Her mother, Leandra made a token protest, but they all knew, this was their only chance to get into the city. She considered them as they walked towards the center open courtyard to wait. Leandra was just as tall, but had blond hair, growing lighter as she aged, and vivid green eyes. She had smiled little since losing her husband, and not at all since losing Carver, but instead of the face of bitterness her uncle presented to the world, Marion could only see sadness in her eyes and in her posture.  
As Gamlen took Leandra to wait in the large courtyard of the Gallows, Bethany, Aveline, and she went to meet the people who might consider getting them into the city if they could be convinced of their worth.  
Athenril was an elf, a smuggler of little repute, but enough coin to back them. She was not happy to hear uncle Gamlen had told Athenril that Bethany was a mage. Standing in what was the Circle of Magi for Kirkwall she wanted nothing more than to take her little sister and leave this oppressive place. The look on Bethany’s face was fearful, her eyes darting to every noise, lips pursed into a thin line, unused to being this much out in the open. She thanked the Maker that it was the city guard currently dealing with the influx of refugees, the templars behind the closed gates as they separated their mages from strangers.  
Aveline was quick to take the offensive over being a smuggler, but if Athenril did not take them the only option was to become a mercenary for a man named Meeran. Was killing for hire worse or better than smuggling and petty theft? Marion figured the amount of money they still had on them, which amounted to less than 20 silver, would not last two days even if they were in the city.  
“What is it you need done?” Marion asked Athenril. Athenril waved her in closer and dropped her voice. A merchant, Cavril who is a friend of the templars has set up shop here in the Gallows. We agreed to supply him for a cut of the take, but now he won’t pay up. He calls the guards every time we try to approach. Get the money and you are in.”  
Seemed simple enough. Aveline continued to grouse so she decided to check out the mercenary, just in case. She saw Cavril in a merchant stall on the opposite side of the courtyard from where her mother and uncle waited but made her way to meet with Meeran who had two guards with him not twenty feet from her family.  
Approaching Meeran cautiously, she made sure she kept all of the guards, as well as Meeran in sight. He was tall, at least a foot taller than her, and you could tell by his stance, the way he turned when she called his name that he was no stranger to working those muscular arms and legs. He wore simple armor, but no weapon was in evidence, but he was likely armed. Just as she carried more than the two daggers at her back, but such would not surprise an experienced fighter.  
The guards with Meeran were all equipped with light armor and their weapons were in complete evidence from a large two handed axe, and another with daggers like her.  
Her own armor, a mix from many sets was in good condition, but when he perused her body she was consciously aware that the cut of her armor was a little more revealing in the breast and leggings than Kirkwall may have found acceptable. She had not thought about it before he stepped towards her, but knew she could not back down from his obvious attempt to make her uncomfortable.  
“Meeran?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, arrogantly stepping right up to him, throwing her shoulders back so that her breasts pressed even further against the armor, daring him. Bethany coughed behind her and Aveline remained silent.  
Meeran smiled, his brown eyes taking in her form and reaching out a hand to entwine a lock of her black hair between his fingers.  
“And you must be Hawke, nice.” He dropped his hand and turned away to lean against the stone wall as he faced the trio of women once again. “Your uncle had better not be blowing smoke out his ass again.” The guards around him had not moved, simply watching the interplay between them. She also took a softer stance and turned nonchalantly to walk over to Aveline and Bethany, her eyes betraying nothing as she looked at Bethany. Aveline was tense, her legs spread, arms not hanging loose but bent slightly at the elbow, ready to draw her sword. Bethany did not react, fully aware of the delicate dance Marion was performing, had performed in the past, mostly for templars.  
“My uncle does not seem the type to hang out with mercenaries.” She stated as she gave Bethany one more glance and faced Meeran with Aveline at her back. Meeran folded his arms across his chest.  
“He doesn’t. Your uncle cheated one of my men at a wallop match. You turn out, and we’ll call things even.” Crossing one booted foot over the other, he waited to see what she would do next.  
“I’d like to know more about you first.” She folded her arms in imitation and put one booted foot further out which he followed hungrily as her hips shifted. She knew men like him, seeing the firm, well-formed body of a woman usually intimidated the weaker men, drew appreciative glances and occasionally a brave soul would attempt to make a play for what she displayed. He was not a fool, and regardless of the tongue that darted out licking his lips as he took in her looks, her form, he made no move and said nothing. Boldness was her defense, but she also was no fool, and the daggers at her back were well used.  
“Right, you’re not a Marcher like your uncle.” He went on to explain that while they stayed out of trouble, he did not hesitate to mess up anyone who messed with the Red Irons, the name of his group of mercenaries.  
“So, you are paying a lot to get us into the city.” He laughed, smiling at his men. Who smiled back chuckling along with him as he moved away from the wall and paced back and forth in front of them.  
“Did I mention the Red Iron gets paid pretty well? Plus, your uncle said your sister was a mage, we're willing to pay for that.” His eyes shifted to Bethany, dressed in a simple dress that did not hide her figure, but covered every inch of skin. Marion did not look at Bethany, but made the steps to bring her right under his nose, distracting him from his lecherous looks towards her sister. His face was unshaven and stubble, gray-black covered his chin, jaw and upper lip, his hair receding a bit was the same gray-black.  
“Does everyone know about us?” He smiled and she did not think it was a good thing. If anything his eyes took on a distant cold view as he stared at her and did not back down.  
“She’s not in the circle yet? Then probably not.” He looked down taking in her flashing green eyes, the sharp nose and full lips. He wondered what it would take to tame her. “You stay with us and you’ll be safe, for the year at least.”  
“I’m ready to prove myself.” She announced, grateful when she heard no protests from Aveline or Bethany. She really wanted to know how far this man would go, and he was a danger nothing like Athenril, a danger she needed to understand before taking or turning down his help.  
Upon learning he wanted their small band to kill a local nobleman and his guard for giving incorrect information she cocked her eyebrow at him again. Easily offended mercenaries, this kept getting better all the time.  
“Go kill him and his men. We’ll make sure the guard doesn’t ask why.” A dangerous man indeed if he could pull that one off.  
Turning smartly, expecting Aveline and Bethany to follow she made her way around the Gallows into another part of the courtyard, walled off from where Gamlen and her mother waited by another section of the Gallows that jutted into the courtyard, out of the sight of Meeran.  
The nobleman was waiting with three guards but he paid them no attention until they were practically upon them.  
“I’d be willing to hear what you did to offend the Red Iron.” She told him, giving him the opportunity to explain his side of the story, still not sure that the upstanding Aveline would outright murder anyone. She had never killed anyone except in self-defense, and Bethany, God; Bethany had never used her magic in public except against the darkspawn. She missed Carver more than anything right then, a sure blade at her side no matter what.  
Once she heard that Meeran wanted the man dead merely for warning another nobleman she knew she could not kill the man for that alone. Thinking quickly, she crossed her arms, bringing a hand to her chin as she contemplated how to turn the situation into some advantage for her family.  
The nobleman offered her the money he would have given the Red Irons if she would let him go.”  
“All right, make it worth my while and you can go.” She rubbed her fingers together, indicating the need for coin to make it out of here alive. Gratefully he handed her two sovereigns, which she pocketed immediately.  
“Hey, wasn’t that coin supposed to pay us to keep your hide safe?” One of the noble man’s guards protested. The weasel of a man threw his arms in the air as he stalked off.  
“If you want to fight them for it, be my guest!”  
With that the game was on. She drew her daggers so quickly that the first guard lost his stomach before he could draw in defense. Aveline flanked her, effectively protecting her blindside from attack as she stabbed, parried, and danced circles around the remaining two guards. She could feel the rejuvenating touch of Bethany’s magic as more of the guards came out of the shadows and Aveline made quick work of them with sword and shield.  
When the fight was done, Sir Fredrick was gone, his guard was dead, and they had not received a scratch. She wondered what Meeran would do in reaction. Perhaps he would believe the noble man had escaped during the battle.  
But Meeran, as she had suspected was no fool though. He angrily faced her, his hands shaking in rage. “The traitor escaped! I hope he gave you enough to get you into the city on your own.” So he wasn’t fooled after all. Still she was surprised when he merely walked out of the gallows without even a backwards glance. They would have to deal with each other again at some point.  
After dealing with Athenril’s little merchant problem, she paid the bribes to get them into the city, none the wiser that she had pocketed one sovereign from the money they collected for her. So they were in, a small reprieve and a ticket out of the Gallows, but at least they wouldn’t starve right away if she was careful with the funds they had.


	2. Needing a Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marion has the afternoon and evening off and quickly hussles herself out of Gamlen's hovel to spend some time at the Hanged Man.

Six months later Hawke left her uncle’s small three room house in the slums of Lowtown to make her way to the Hanged Man Pub for a drink.Bethany did not care for spirits and preferred to stay inside with their mother.Marion could not stand being there, her uncle always complaining, the smells, mother ignoring her, and Bethany’s nervous need to remain out of the circle.She thought she would scream if she didn’t get away for just a little while.

 

Athenril had them running around all night the day before, stealing and trading with the Coterie hot on their heels.The Coterie was the largest guild of thieves in the area, and they were fast becoming the only one as they either absorbed or killed their competition.

 

So she had the afternoon and evening off.She did not go unarmed anywhere in the city; Kirkwall seemed plagued with every unsavory sort of criminal no matter what part of town you were in.She missed being a soldier, knowing the men in your group, relying on each other for protection, friendship, or occasionally a lover.She had not partaken often of the latter, remembering her father’s words, “Never shit where you eat.” He advised, but she had not appreciated it at the time.

 

The afternoon was hot and muggy but there were several areas that never saw the sunlight from the shadows of Hightown.The idea of building a city upwards instead of out had seemed foolish at first until seasonal storms had flooded into Darktown, into the base of Kirkwall and what was now the sewers, and home to many a refugee with no money and no options. 

 

She wore a sleeveless leather jerkin of soft black and matching breeches.The leather jerkin was cut low in front to reveal the swell of her breasts; the whole outfit was snug to her body, more like a second skin that enabled easy movement in a fight.Bethany had tied a red sash around her waist before she left the house, she had tried to put it in her hair but she had quickly stopped that nonsense.Her hair, almost as black as her outfit was pulled into a ponytail that hung halfway down her back and swung with her hips as she made her way to the pub.

 

The afternoon still saw many a visitor to the popular establishment, and she nodded at Tom Wise, the elf who occasionally supplied them with poisons and went to join him as he sat alone at a table farthest from the fire roaring on the right side of the room.The bar was to her left, and scattered tables filled the center.It stank of stale beer and piss, but she loved it, loved the ease with which she found people she knew, had a drink or ten, but mostly just the easy acceptance.She swung one booted for over a bench and asked the barmaid, Norah for a whiskey and a beer.

 

“Starting early today Hawke?” Tom inquired a sheepish grin on his angelic face.All the elves here struck her as angelic looking; big beautiful eyes, pouting lips, sweet unlined faces, long wide bridged nose, and ears that she just wanted to run her finger down to see how they would react.Tom had a shock of black as night hair on the crown of his head but nowhere else.

 

Marion shrugged, looking around to see if she knew anyone else, but she didn’t.Paying Norah for her drinks out of the pouch in her belt, she threw back the shot of whiskey and then followed it with a sip of lukewarm beer.

 

“Some days are never early enough.” She countered as she continually surveyed the room, her own back to the wall near the stairs to the living quarters on the second floor.She smiled at Tom to take the sting out of her words, and he smiled back with a shake of his head.The room was darker than most businesses, no windows and other than the fire and a few hanging lamps there was no other source of light.

 

As they talked about the lack of work in the city she noted two guards dressed in the Red Iron mercenary colors on their armor walk in and seeing her began to wend their way towards her table.She ignored the lull in general conversation at the other tables, and although she looked at Tom Wise, asking about a particular herb she had found, she kept the two men in her peripheral vision.

 

Marion took a large gulp of beer and leaned into the wall behind her as the two men stopped at her table.Their faces were covered by helmets so there was no way to tell who they were other than mercenaries of the Red Iron. Anonymity had its advantages in this town. 

 

“Hawke, Meeran wants to see you.”The one closest to her announced flatly.

 

“Tell him I said to fuck off.” She replied, taking another sip of her beer when the two men stiffened in response.She heard Tom gasp at her temerity, and she ignored him to cock an eyebrow at the guards.When he reached for his belt Hawke had a dagger in her hand before he could pull anything out, the point discreetly in his groin from under cover of the table.

 

Both hands came away and stood open as he showed himself unarmed, but she watched him very closely as he pulled an envelope from his belt and laid it upon the table.His friend had never made a move, just stayed behind guarding the back of his company.Marion slowly put her dagger away as both men left the tavern as quickly as they had come.

 

“By the creators Hawke, do you have a death wish?” Tom whispered his face a deathly pale in the firelight.She shrugged and pocketed the envelope before finishing her beer.She waved Norah off when she headed her direction.

 

“No such thing, I assure you Tom.”She stood and smiled her most fierce, her green eyes flashing. “But I think Meeran does.”

 

As Hawke sauntered out of The Hanged Man she did not see Varric Tethras watching her from the top of the stairs where he had heard the entire encounter.Dwarves were common in Kirkwall, but Varric lived in the Hanged Man and this was where he spent a great deal of his time. He hummed to himself as he made his way to his normal table in the darkest corner of the room and settled his crossbow Bianca” on the bench next to him, caressing her stock as he settled in.Hawke was a name he had started hearing about a month ago, and he was always intrigued by beautiful but deadly women.He would have to find out what the note said; his curiosity peaked because even though it was not common knowledge, he knew what Hawke had done in the Gallows with Meeran and Athenril.That was what he did; he ferreted out bits of information that kept his family ahead of the others in the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild.

 

But more importantly, he could not resist a good juicy story.Hawke exuded sex in every move, lithe and shapely with a touch of brazen hussy thrown in.Varric laughed to himself, stroking Bianca once again.“Don’t you worry sweetheart, no one could replace you.”


	3. The Blooming Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke meets with Meeran at the Blooming Rose, getting much more than she ever bargained for!

Marion waited until she was home to pull out the envelope. She went to the room she shared with Bethany and their mother, surprising them when she came back so soon, but she waved them off, muttering about forgetting something before closing the door and them out.  
The note was brief and to the point;  
 _Be at the Blooming Rose after sunset._  


She crumpled up the note and threw it in the fireplace on her way out the door. The Blooming Rose was a whore house, fancy, expensive and located in Hightown. It would take her awhile to get there, the stairs alone; not including it was on the other side of Hightown from the stairs that led up from Lowtown.

  


She wondered what he wanted, but she suspected she wasn’t going to like it. She smiled as an idea came to her and quickened the pace heading towards the Lowtown Bazaar where she purchased a new shirt of linen, so fine she could see her skin through the material. She went on to buy a chemise of flimsy lace and a skirt that hugged her hips and swayed around her ankles. The skirt was green matching her eyes but she didn’t buy it for the color, the chemise was the color of her skin and looked as if she had nothing on underneath the linen shirt.

  


Here she stopped, knowing she could not go home to change. Mother would never let her out of the house looking like a dockside whore, and she didn’t know anyone with a bath where she could hole up and prepare for the coming evening. She mentally counted out the coins in her purse and headed for the Hanged Man.

  


Varric saw Hawke arrive, arms full of packages, and she went to the bar where Norah was hanging around waiting on customers as needed. Hawke spoke a moment and then Norah led her up towards the stairs and out of sight. Varric rubbed his hands together gleefully, bending to the sheets of paper in front of him he began to write. An hour passed as Varric wove a story about a sexy rogue warrior on the prowl, drinking his whiskey and keeping his ears open and one eye to the room, he saw her glide past.

  


Hawke wore a see through blouse loosely tucked into a shimmering green skirt that left nothing to the imagination, and he swore there was nothing under the blouse either but this was partially covered by her hair. He had never seen her hair down, and loose it was glorious; waves of black silk that fell to her hips. He felt the stirring of his own cock and frowned, coughing slightly to cover his discomfort, then laughing as he saw the same reaction from all the men present as Hawke swept on by and left the tavern. It was a good thing that the barmaid Norah was skilled and amenable; Varric preferred that to going to the Blooming Rose.

  
As he gathered his things, slinging Bianca onto his back, he nodded to Norah, who smiled in return. So as soon as her shift was over she would come to his rooms upstairs and he could get the relief he needed.  


Hawke made her way to Hightown, using her hair to cover the front of the shirt so that she didn’t get stopped by the guard. She was not oblivious to the men’s stares and she prayed she was playing this one correctly; otherwise she was in very deep water here. Everything that she had heard about Meeran, and there really had not been much due to the loyalty he inspired, said that he was a lustful man, a regular at the Blooming Rose, a tactician of some repute as he stayed ahead of the Raiders, the Coterie, and to top it all off they stayed out of trouble, occasionally working as hired swords for the city guard.

  


She stopped outside the Rose and reconsidered. Her way had always been to take things head on, no tolerance for fools and absolutely never backed down from a challenge. And beyond a doubt this was a challenge of some sort, either against her, or someone close to her, so there really was no choice. She could hope to distract him with her body, hoping he didn’t take her up on it, but she had to be willing to go through with it if he called her bluff.

  
“Shit.” She muttered to herself. Smiling because this was a favorite word of Carver’s whenever he had felt overwhelmed or embarrassed. Carver would have her head if he could see her now, and Bethany would be embarrassed.  


“Move along.” A guard ordered and she noted the waning sunlight. Opening the door to the rose and kept her head high as she went to the main room. Gamlen was at the far end of the bar, several drinks gone from the swaying whenever he lifted his head to sip at his ale. Madam Lucine, the proprietor was eyeing the room like an eagle circling for prey.

Hawke went to the other end of the bar as far away from Gamlen as she could get and hoped he would not notice her. She ordered ale from the bartender and surveyed the room. There were several whores standing about talking loudly about some of the patron’s ridiculous requests, any other day she might have found it interesting, but now she was nervous, and just wanted the meeting over and done with. 

She didn’t have to worry about her attire here as most of the whores were scantily clad; the men had no shirts on, the women wore corsets that displayed breast and buttocks to their fullest. One man rose from his chair and she openly stared at the skin tight breeches revealing a large, rather erect cock that he rubbed playfully with one hand, throwing his other arm over the shoulders of a man he was taking up the stairs.

Hawke squirmed in her seat, feeling a rush of heat, realizing that she had not been with a man since before Ostagar. Well that would be embarrassing, especially when she was trying to remain aloof. She could not allow anything personal to get in the way of protecting herself or her family. The Rose was actually a good alternative, no emotions, just release. Perhaps she could work in a visit once a month into her budget if she was careful.

Meeran walked in as she was finishing her ale, his brown eyes turning to liquid gold as he appraised her. She let him get his fill, reaching up to brush her hair back over her shoulder so he could see as much as he wanted. Meeran smiled, but it was predatory, eyes narrowed, jaw muscles jumping as he ground his teeth together.

Madam Lucine greeted Meeran warmly and asked if he wished his usual. He turned and spoke quietly for a moment, passing coin into her hand and then finished making his way to stand next to her. He towered over her on the bar stool, and he made no effort to sit down as he ordered an ale, shrugging when she declined the offer to buy her one as well.

Curiosity was a fire in her, and all of the flirting; kissing in the room was not helping her keep her mind on business. Meeran managed to take her elbow and steer her towards the stairs before she thought to protest. When she tried to pull her arm from his grasp he tightened his grip and half dragged her up the stairs and towards a large door at the top. In the end she decided to cooperate, walking the same pace he set, allowing the side of her breast to brush against the hand on her arm. 

The room was big, outfitted more like a living space than just a room to have sex. There was a small sitting area with a tray of food and a bottle of wine, with a desk in front of the fire, which was thankfully not lit.

“What the hell are you playing at Meeran?” She demanded, hands on her hips. Meeran chuckled as he sat down in front of the tray of food, plucking a grape that he popped into his mouth. His lips were full and his tongue swept over them drawing her gaze.  


“You owe me Hawke.” He said it quietly throwing a booted leg over the arm of the chair and leaning his lean frame back.  


“I owe you nothing.” She declared boldly. Meeran chuckled and removed his sword from its belt, standing to remove the leather from his narrow hips. When he began removing his armor, undoing the buckles as he watched her, she protested hotly. “We are here to talk, as you requested Meeran, and nothing more.”

“Oh?” His breastplate fell to the floor and she could see where his sweat had plastered his shirt to a rather appealing muscular chest. “Who said anything about talking?” It was her turn to smile, but it did not deter Meeran from beginning to unbutton his shirt and pull it from his breeches.

“I met you as you asked, with no intention to do anything else. Now what do you want?”

He came close enough to run a finger along the neckline of her blouse. Hawke shivered in response but did not back down. Stupid, weak body was going to be the death of her someday.

“Such a shame, and here I thought this getup was all for my benefit.” Hawke snorted inelegantly as she laid a hand on his chest and made to push him back. Her hand met solid muscle that moved not an inch.

“Oh no, I just figured on sampling the wares here once we were done _talking_.” Meeran smiled and covered her hand with his and began pushing against her until her back was against the wall lowering his head until those full lips brushed hers.

“Well then, since you are already agreeable to a few extracurricular activities, I think the talking can wait.” With that he covered her mouth with his, angling across her jaw and devoured her with lips and tongue. His hand pulled her from his chest to the evident bulge at his crotch and groaned into her mouth when she grasped him firmly.

Hawke had to concentrate hard on anything but what Meeran was doing with his tongue and lips. As one hand had dragged her lower the other brushed against the nipple of one breast and she arched into that touch before she could stop herself. “Shit!” She screamed in her mind, she had to gain control somehow. When her hand came into contact with the obvious evidence of Meeran’s desire she fondled him for a moment and then grabbed his balls, _hard_.

Meeran hissed and bunched a handful of her hair painfully in one fist pulling her back until her neck was exposed to his mouth. His other hand grabbed her by the offending wrist but she only tightened her grip a tiny amount in warning. “You will regret that.” He warned.

“I doubt it.” She threw back at him. Neither one released their hold on the other even while her scalp burned and her neck strained against his pull, she was sure his was more painful.

“Well, business before pleasure then.” He chuckled, he released his grip on her hair and she loosened her hold in equal measure until he finally stepped back. She was left clinging to the wall while he returned to sit in the chair he had recently vacated. Hawke straightened her hair with her hands and pulled her blouse back together.

“What in the nine blazes of hell do you want?” She shouted, angry at herself for allowing him to get her.

“All that anger will earn you a spanking if you’re not careful.” He popped another grape into his mouth but this time she did not follow that move with her eyes, instead she marched towards the door and had her hand on the knob before he spoke again. “Is Bethany safe and sound at home?” He asked innocently.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the door, her hand releasing the handle. Fear rippled down her spine as she thought of Bethany, sweet innocent Beth. When she turned her head to look at him, eyes narrowed angrily but he only chuckled. “Gamlen has also run up quite a sum on my tab here at the Rose.”

“You can take Gamlen and drop him into the nearest sewer for all I care.” She shot back. “If he didn’t have such a big mouth I would not be here.” She could hear Meeran’s voice in her head mocking her; _“Plus your uncle told us your sister is a mage, we’re willing to pay for that.”_

“So you do understand the situation. Good.” He began removing his boots with slow deliberation as she watched, and she knew she had been a fool that day in the Gallows. “Bethany will remain safe from the templars so long as we can come to some arrangement.”

“Like what?” She asked, but she already knew. He leaned back in the chair; legs spread apart, hands on his knees.

“Strip” He commanded. She stiffened at his order but she was truly stuck and she saw no choice. His eyes watched as she dropped her skirt to the floor, followed by the gauzy blouse. It was arousing enough to have her near naked body open to his perusal, the dagger strapped to her thigh went next and he could feel his erection once again straining against his own clothing. Hawke had a remarkable body, lush full breasts, narrow waist and flaring hips, her long waves of hair, a curtain of silk that he had enjoyed crushing into his fist as he ravished that wanton mouth. Her legs were long and shapely and he wanted them wrapped around his waist as he took her.

“Kneel” Meeran pointed to the space on the floor between his legs, and she meekly did as she was bid. Meeran took a small amount of mercy and release his cock from his pants instead of making her do it. “Suck it.” He was not fooled by the meek composure, knowing she would gut him at the first opportunity, that fact just made her more desirable.

When she raised her head and looked at his throbbing member, she wondered how she was going to take it all in her mouth without gagging. She had to straighten up onto her knees from sitting on her ankles to get to the tip of that hard cock. 

Her tongue reached out and as she ran the tip over the head and around the sensitive rim, Meeran moaned appreciatively. Her body responded to that lustful moan; her nipples tightening into hard peaks as they brushed the leather of his breeches and a definite dampness was between her own legs. “Shit!” she screamed in her head once again.

Tossing her hair over one shoulder, half of it spilling onto Meeran’s thigh, but all was forgotten when she took him into her mouth and began sucking and licking her way down, bobbing her head, taking in more of him with each move. He brought a hand to her head, keeping her hair from obscuring her face so he could see her as she sucked, the reality of her going down on him so much better than his fantasies. 

Marion found a kind of power as she experimented with lips, tongue and finally teeth. She wanted to see Meeran lose control, wanted him to lose control in pure lust. Every moan, push of his hips as he bucked into her mouth straining for her to take him deeper, even the hand behind her head was a rush in her veins as she felt the power of her own sex.

Marion liked sex, and while she did not care for the current arrangement, she saw no reason not to use it to her advantage. Men, in her experience were predictable in bed, it was easy to get them there, it was usually easy then to bring them to climax and the easiest was booting them out when she was finished.

Meeran grunted when she took him completely in her mouth and swallowed before backing up and used her tongue to work the underside of his cock then back to the sensitive tip. When her hand moved, cupping his balls and rolling the stones in her fingers, he groaned aloud, his hips coming off the chair as he thrust past her lips, deep into her throat, both hands now holding her steady as he fucked her mouth. She made sure she got her breath between thrusts and knew when he swelled even larger that he was about to cum. As he drove into her throat, she slipped a finger behind his balls and played with the sensitive skin between his puckered entrance and his sac. He shouted when he came, still pumping into her mouth until he had drained himself and she swallowed every drop.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, sitting back on her heels, allowing her hair to cover her breasts before she moved away to pick up her clothing near the door. She heard Meeran come up behind her before she could begin dressing.

  
“What makes you think we are done here sweetness?”


	4. Reparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeran knows he has to punish Marion, but can he do it after a wild evening together?

Marian let the clothing drop from her hands and leaned her head against the door. Meeran wrapped one arm around her waist while his other hand gripped her ass, massaging her luscious mounds, kneading them with calloused hands.

Her breath caught when he dipped into the cleft of her ass, then lower where he parted wet lips and drove a finger deep inside. She groaned, couldn’t help herself as she rocked against his hand. The wet sounds as he slid his finger in and out of her were indecently loud and she wondered if they could be heard through the door. She stifled a chuckle, sex always made her laugh, silly things struck her as funny and it didn’t always go over well. Thank the Maker that Meeran either didn’t notice or his ego could handle it.

Meeran moved his hand away and she protested with a moan only to feel his body press against hers, his cock rigid, his hands wandering over both breasts as his mouth bit her shoulder. When he pinched one nipple she gasped at the unexpected pain, jumping when he pinched the other one even harder. Meeran spun her around to face him claiming her mouth as he encircled her in his arms. Strong muscular arms she corrected, running her hands over them, loving the ripple of muscle under probing fingers.

Her nipples were tight buds, responding to the slightest touch, and being skin on skin was making her crazy with desire. He kissed her with a savagery that sang to her in all its lustful glory, tongues dueling, teeth biting, lips seeking more and more. He pushed her hair back over her shoulder and ran his tongue around her ear and down her neck, pausing at the base he bit her hard and she arched into him her nails digging into his arms and back.

When Meeran placed his hands around her ass and lifted her up, her legs immediately encircled his waist locking at the base of his spine. She ached for release and shuddered as Meeran walked over to the bed lowering them both before covering her with his body. Squirming towards his erection she tried to tell him with her body what she wanted and when he did not enter her she growled in frustration, hitting his shoulder.

“Something wrong?” His voice was husky with desire as he trailed kisses down her neck and he gave her a wicked smile before taking her breast into his mouth. Marian bucked against him, groaning as heat snaked from her breast to burn lower in her belly.

“P..Pl…Please..” She begged, her head thrashing back and forth as he suckled one breast, then the other and she buried her hands in his hair pulling him closer. His hand parted her thighs even further and she opened to him willingly as he explored her sex and she lifted her hips off the bed to push into that hand, yearning for more.

When he left her breast to trail kisses across her flat stomach she held her breath, shivering with need, wanting that tongue to replace his hand as he rubbed her swollen nub. Meeran watched her, magnificently splayed out for his pleasure, eyes wild and unfocused, her hair a mass of tangles clinging to sweat drenched skin the color of honey. When his tongue delved into her soft folds, finding the center of her pleasure and flicking his tongue repeatedly she nearly came off the bed. 

He had never had a woman so openly embrace sex before and wanted to see her come apart at his hands, to feel the desire that raged in them both sink its teeth in as they found release. He found another sensitive spot within her folds and as he took her fully into his mouth to suckle that small center of her his fingers dove in and out, hooking into her flesh until she screamed his name as she came. He continued his assault until her scent filled the room and she was whimpering, her head tossing from side to side.

Meeran smiled to himself as he rose up onto his knees, hooking both her legs over his shoulders. He paused, rubbing his aching member across her opening, enjoying her slick heat. When she finally looked at him he rubbed her lips with fingers still damp with her own juices, grinning when her tongue snaked out to lick his fingers, suckling his thumb when he pressed it into her mouth. He sweated against the need to hold off his pleasure for as long as possible, knowing he was close and wanting to prolong this sweet yearning.

Marian watched him struggle for control when she least wanted him to have any. In a brazen move she cupped her breasts in her hands and pulled each nipple erect as he watched appreciatively and she almost crowed with delight when he drove into her, filling her completely. Marion removed one leg from his shoulder, dropping one hip to wrap her thigh around his waist pulling him closer, deeper as her hips shifted the angle and he drove into her even deeper.

Meeran gave up all pretense of control beginning to pump into Marian over and over, her hips rising to meet him with each stroke. Sweat beads dropped from his forehead and onto her stomach. He felt his sac tighten and knew he was close, never wanting this desire to abate. Marion came apart as his hot seed filled her shivering as each wave of pleasure filtered through already over sensitized nerves and skin.

When Meeran collapsed on the bed he drew her with him, his cock still buried in her as it softened. Her feet touched leather and she laughed against his chest. “You still have your pants on.”

Meeran chuckled at the novelty of a woman who could find laughter and sex so naturally. He had thought to punish her in some way when he began this evening, and she had surprised him over and over as she opened up to him.

Now with Marian’s sated body draped over his Meeran had to decide how best to proceed. He was drawn to her, and she was explosive in bed, matching his own lustful nature easily. He realized that the age difference had not seemed to matter a wit to someone so young, and with all of that he found himself in a bit of a quandary.

He wanted her, but he wanted all of her. He would also have to satisfy the fact that she had betrayed him as his men could not be allowed to think he would let that go. His arm tightened his hold on her involuntarily and she tittered, raising her head, resting her chin on his chest as they regarded each other. Her easy smile diminished when she saw the dark look in his eyes. Staring at him waiting for some response got her nothing but that impassive look.

Marian didn’t expect sweet words but the connection she had felt with him seemed broken with the mental shift away from her. Marian pulled away to stand at the bedside, her hands taking the mass of hair to knot it at her nape, not looking at him, giving him a moment to work out whatever was bothering the man.

Meeran gave a sigh beginning to lace up his breeches, wishing for a bath to erase her scent so he could think. When he rose to stand before her, his hands resting easily on her shoulders, he knew what he had to do, he just dreaded her reaction.

He pushed her away slightly as she regarded him, his fingers holding tightly to keep her in place.  
“I’m sorry Marian.”  


When his fist connected with the side of her face she saw a flash of light before crumpling in a heap at Meeran’s feet. Then her head began to throb. Anger, like a flame, burned bright as she gained her feet and glared at Meeran.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Her voice shook with anger as her hand came up to press against the swelling of her cheek and eye, the skin hot under her hand.

He shrugged, pushing her aside as he found his clothing and began to dress. He saw the swelling on her face was going to darken to a colorful bruise and the eye would be closed for a few days, keeping her out of commission till she could at least see. She also had several bites, scratches, and bruises along her neck where he had tasted her quite thoroughly.

“This town is a bitch and you know it. You had to answer for betraying me, a visible payment for my men and my enemies to see.” He finished pulling on his boots and before he walked out the door he pulled her to him, forcing her mouth open as his tongue swept in to possess her. She bit his lip defiantly drawing blood before he set her back from him, admiring her temerity.

“Shit!” She shouted as he left the room. In her mind she was screaming; “Shit, shit, shit!” Wishing she could stay pissed, but Meeran was right, Kirkwall was a bitch just waiting for the next one who was bigger, richer, or stronger to take your place. She was a little mollified that he had not wanted to hit her; at least she thought that was why he had apologized first.

Dressing quickly, knowing it would be dark by now and her apparent lack of apparel would not draw as much attention. She did want the attention this time, just so that Meeran could make his point and suffering that stinging blow would not require a repeat.

When she came into the Hanged Man talk quieted to a dull roar, which she ignored, head held high seeking out Norah, requesting a bath in the room she had rented earlier. Norah wrinkled her nose at the stench of sex and sweat. Leaving Norah to take care of her task Marion made her way slowly up the stairs, her eyesight sorely tested making the steps with one eye swollen shut. She did not see Varric watching from his room, would not have cared if she had. 

Varric smiled that sweet secretive smile that made many a patron of the Hanged Man nervous. His stories were notorious and everyone knew they were true, well mostly true anyway. It was not always beneficial to be the brunt of those stories. Varric reasoned that Hawke had walked normally, love bites were in clear evidence, so probably not rape but Meeran would have to do what was necessary to make people aware that he had punished her.

So while Marion soaked away in her room, she was unaware of a secret champion to her cause as Varric made sure that everyone who needed to know what Meeran had done would know. Norah was also helping, expounding in what she had smelled on Hawke. By morning the story had grown in the telling.

Meeran heard it all from his lieutenants when they reported in the morning. Marian was smart as well as the hottest thing around right now. Athenril would gain some influence with Hawke’s employ, but everyone could breathe a sigh of relief, for now at least.

He wondered when he could arrange to meet with her again, his body responded as he remembered their encounter. Shifting at his desk he started handing out orders for the day but the dark haired beauty was like a drug, always somewhere in the back of his mind, craving that open abandon with a dangerous need.

In the end, he took a job with the city guard and he led a group of his men to the Wounded Coast to quiet a bunch of bandits. He could have let one of his lieutenant’s take the group, but this gave him distance from Marion, knowing he would not have been able to stay away long enough to make the rumors true. Contrary to current popular opinion, he did not enjoy hitting women and hoped he could avoid it in the future.


	5. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke must deal with the aftermath of a night with Meeran, and keep the details from Bethany

Marion didn’t need a mirror to tell that she probably looked like hell. Her face was so swollen, the eye pulled uncomfortably at skin gone purple, blue and black. She had spent the night at the hanged man, falling into bed after her bath and was out cold.

Insistent pounding on the door woke her before she was ready to face the day; she had almost decided to ignore it when she heard Bethany calling her name, a fact no other patron was going to appreciate. Marian wrapped the sheet around her and stomped to the door to let her sister in. Bethany was in such a dither that she did not notice anything unusual at first, going on about how worried they had all been when she didn’t come home last night.

“Beth, please shut up.” Bethany did stop talking but only to gape at her swollen face. When she moved to heal her Marion held up her hand and shook her head. “Thanks, but no.” She shivered in the thin sheet. The fire had died down so she added more wood and she stared at it unseeing, wondering where Meeran was today.

Bethany took a seat in the only chair available so Marion took the bed, curling her feet under her for warmth. Bethany watched her, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“Why didn’t you come home last night?” Bethany voice was quiet and coaxing. Bethany would never rush into a conversation head on, preferring the sneak attack. Usually this worked, but Marion could not tell her about Meeran. She may have started out protecting Bethany but in the end she had participated willingly and wholeheartedly. At that thought she chuckled, leaning her head back against the wall, not realizing she was baring her throat with several bruises as well. 

“Who would do such a thing?” Bethany, so far as she knew was still an innocent. How would she even come up with a lie to tell her sainted little sister?

“Beth, I feel like shit right now, my head hurts, along with several other parts I’d rather not mention.” She dropped the sheet and reached for her clothes hanging her head when Bethany gasped. She decided to ignore that part and pulled on her smalls and breast band before pulling on her leather breeches and vest.

“If it hurts so bad, why won’t you let me heal you?” Good question, she wished she had a response that would satisfy her sister.

“This face is a badge of honor. I have to present this face to this shithole town and bear with it. If it still hurts in a few days, then and only then can you begin to heal me.” She gathered the clothing from the day before and shoved it under the pillow. 

Bethany came to stand in front of her laying her hands on Marion’s shoulders. She felt the rejuvenating power flow into her, muscles eased, tensions released. Then Bethany gave her a quick hug before examining her face more closely. Marion allowed her the inspection as she would no other person. Bethany leaned in and kissed her good cheek, smiling. “The rumors from this should be interesting!”

“I will explain to mother, later.” But she knew when Bethany hung her head and looked away that their mother had not asked about her absence. That hurt, but she said nothing when she placed her daggers at her back, wincing at the pull of the muscles around her shoulders. Bethany’s healing touch had alleviated some of the soreness, enough that she could probably get some minor jobs done for Athenril. 

Marion was fenced in on all fronts; she had Bethany who she trusted absolutely but could not tell her about the deal with Meeran, Athenril who would only worry about how it would affect business, mother who rarely spoke to her since losing Carver, Gamlen who was an ass, and Aveline who would want to know who had hurt her so she could arrest the scum. There had been a moment yesterday when she had felt something with Meeran. It was nothing she could define yet, but she had felt less alone then, at least since their arrival in Kirkwall.

Bethany helped braid her hair for her, gently so as not to hurt her farther. Bethany had learned magic from their father, had spent countless hours in his company as he taught her magic and how to hide that talent when needed. All of them had been protective of her, Carver most of all, but Bethany had proven her ability to deal with tough situations when they had fled Lothering, fighting darkspawn the entire way.

Marion sighed, rising from the chair as Beth finished with her hair. “Mother doesn’t mean it you know,” Bethany began and Marion stilled her walk towards the door. “She wishes she had died with Carver, or instead of him, but she doesn’t blame you, not really.”

“It’s that not really part I have trouble with.” Marion spat out. “She is right though, I should have done better for Carver.” She shrugged, swearing against muscles that insisted on stiffening, deciding to remain a quiet for the rest of the day would probably only make things worse.

One foot in front of the other, that was all she thought about as she swept Bethany out of the room with her and down into the common room. She still couldn’t see out of the bruised eye so she was checking out the room by swinging her head back and forth, not subtle but at least she felt safer when it proved empty except for a young boy near the door. 

The lad’s eyes grew large when he saw her face, a reaction she was quickly going to tire of she suspected. “What!?” She demanded too loudly, but her patience was wearing thin. The boy shakily withdrew an envelope from his belt and handed it to her and then ran out the door.

Bethany came to stand beside her, curiosity being a foremost family trait. The envelope was heavy and jingled loudly, indicating coin but she knew of none owed to her or Bethany at the moment. When five sovereigns dropped into her upturned palm Bethany whistled appreciatively. Marion pocketed the coin and turned away from Bethany to read the note. Bethany sighed and went to the bar to order breakfast.

The dark room was not making it easy to read so she went to stand next to the central fire and read with one good eye;

_Hawke,_  
 _Keep the room at the Hanged Man, paid in advance for one month. I will be away for a few days. Also, as per our arrangement do not take your sister into Darktown while I am gone as the templars will be making several raids.  
_ _The remaining payment should cover the cost of additional armor or clothing, which I expect you to utilize instead of that leather outfit that has every man in Kirkwall panting after you. I do not share well.  
_ _M_

Well, that was interesting. Panting were they? The note went into the fire and she smiled as she watched it burn, hissing as it pulled at the swollen cheek. But for the first time that day her heart was lighter.


	6. Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marion Hawke discovers that having friends and family can mean life or death in Kirkwall.

Hawke had Bethany bring her things from home there wasn’t much; mementos from Lothering; her father’s circle ring and a sketch a passerby had done of their small house when he had let the stranger sleep in their barn overnight, the few clothes she had but the room was still pretty barren and without windows it depressed her. She spent several nights running contraband for Athenril’s contacts, mostly stolen goods from the docks. This kept her busy, but not exactly visible, yet this ended up being helpful in the end. Whether by design or chance, her withdrawal from daytime activities only strengthened the rumors that Meeran had set her straight.

On the fourth day she picked up the armor she had special ordered, using three sovereigns to complete the purchase. She had been tempted to get something even more revealing, but armor was critical, not something she wanted to play games with and the funds may not happen again for quite some time, if ever. Marion never allowed herself to rely on a possibility; only sureties.

The armorer was pleased once she had it all on, and she had to admit the feel was smooth, supple and flexed in all the right places. The armor was dark charcoal leather; breeches, boots, and bustier with burgundy dyed leather reinforced on the bustier. The edging of the bustier had an extra band of hardened green and black leather intertwined to form a pleasing pattern.

You couldn’t exactly call it armor she supposed, reinforced leather would be hard pressed to stop a fast blade, but she was hard to catch, and this would keep her moving fast if not faster than before. When she had placed the order, the armorer threw in some scrap chain mail, adding it to the back and the rest hung in small but effective strips from the waist. He had gone to the extra trouble to tint it black as well. She felt very sexy considering it covered more than before. She had wanted to add a guard for her right arm as that was the hand she led with in a fight, but having given her mother two of the sovereigns, and she had not had enough.

Marion stopped near the Rose to see Athenril, making sure she was not needed that evening, but Athenril had not been at her usual spot. Turning, she started for the stairs heading to Lowtown located directly across from the Rose. Two men she did not recognize blocked her path. No heraldry on their weapons or armor which was dark red and brown scale armor, each wielding a longsword. She cocked an eyebrow at them, and eased into a casual looking stance, one which she could spring from at a moment’s notice.

“Little bitch has been going where she doesn’t belong.” One growled his dark brown eyes inscrutable in a tanned face that looked her up and down before making a fast grab for her arm. She should have known it was a feint, meant to distract but she found herself spinning a kick at the wrong man anyway. Her back was now to the second man who quickly drew a small dagger, thrusting it into her shoulder bringing her to her knees to face the brown eyed man she had kicked to the ground. He laughed, coming to stand before her, grabbing her face with his fist. The gauntlet he was wearing scratching into her cheek.

Marion gulped in air, trying not to vomit as pain radiated from her shoulder like burning flames. Blood trickled down her back underneath the armor, but it wasn’t life threatening, yet. So it was intimidation, which means they must be Coterie thugs, Athenril’s competition, or perhaps that was giving Athenril too much credit. 

The Coterie was a guild of thieves that controlled most of the smuggling and theft in Kirkwall. Athenril by comparison was a gnat of a nuisance. The threat was real, they could just kill her, but Marion thought this was a tactical threat or she would probably be dead already. Her right arm was going numb, shock surely fast approaching; she had a long way to go till she could get to Lowtown. The Rose was close but Madam Lucene would not thank her for a move like that.

“What’s wrong Dog Lord?” Brown eyes asked as he knelt in front of her, his gauntlet still holding her head from moving. “The bitch likes all this attention Luthor. We hear you pant pretty well for a Mabari bitch.” The two men laughed, but she refused to respond, that would only give them more reason to hang around. Stay conscious she told herself as pain was radiating down her arm and side; the shakes had started. “Athenril had better stay out of our territory, or we come after her next.”

The two men released her quickly and disappeared down the stairs, leaving the dagger. This was probably a good thing; she would bleed more if they had taken it out. Her right arm was useless until she could get Bethany or any other mage to heal her, the faster the better.

Not a guard in sight, never when you wanted one anyway. Already on her knees, she crawled using her good hand to get where she could grab the railing of the stairwell, anchored securely to the stone walls, it at least could bear her weight. Pulling herself up, swallowing the nausea that threatened again and everything started to go a funny gray color.

Marion leaned into the wall her face pressed to the cool stone, sweat broke out, beading on her forehead, trying to maintain consciousness long enough to survive this. Her hand was now dripping a steady stream of blood, laying slack at her side and smeared the wall when she began to slowly descend the stairs. Shit, she yelled in her head. Ever since they had gotten to this backwater fucking town all she had done was make mistakes. This one may have just killed her.

That brought thoughts of mother and Bethany. She could not leave them without protection; she was it. Bethany would end up in the Circle and her mother would have no one except scum sucking uncle Gamlen. “Unacceptable!” She could hear Carver’s voice in her head. “Move your ass Marion!” He yelled in her ear.

Spurred on by that voice she made her way to Lowtown, slowly, stopping frequently to clear her vision and make her shaky legs bear her weight. It was just going from late afternoon into evening, the twilight hour when shops had closed; the night time drunks and hoodlums were not yet out in force. The few she saw ignored her, not wanting to get involved, and she didn’t ask. On the last set of stairs leading from the Lowtown market and across from the Hanged Man her knees gave out. 

Carver was there, standing next to the door of the Hanged Man, frowning at her. “Is big sister taking on more than she can handle?” Marion glared at him in response and he laughed wickedly, teasing her.

Hitting your knees with all your weight against solid stone was decidedly painful she mused, catching herself from going all the way to the ground with her good arm. Losing the battle with her stomach she vomited, her muscles tightening as she did so and pulled against the dagger painfully. Carver was there at her side on his hands and knees, avoiding the vomit she noticed, and yelling at her again. “By the Maker Marion Hawke, GET UP!”

Hearing the sound of footsteps, from several people, or at least she thought it was, her head was swimming too much to tell. But being found in a pool of her own body fluids was not how she wished to be remembered. Carver took her good arm and helped her up. When she would have punched him in friendly banter he was once again back by the door to the Hanged Man watching her. Well, shit.

Using the same technique to pull her up against the railing she tried to see if she had really heard someone. She could hear footsteps, but the sound echoed against the stone, it was near, but not near enough. Contemplating the distance between the top of the stairs and the Hanged Man she let go of the railing and made a few halting steps before her vision was getting fuzzy and black dots were floating in front of her. “Damn it Carver, never where I want you!”

Reminder to self, she chided, as she fell face first into the stone ground, don’t die here. As she slipped into unconsciousness she thought she could hear voices shouting and several more footsteps before everything went dark. At least Carver had stopped yelling at her.

*~*

When next she woke, Marion was in her room at the Hanged Man. It took a moment for the memories of the knife attack to come back. A bandage of some sort was on her cheek that caught when she rubbed her eyes clear. Sitting up, she flexed her shoulder and found it only pulled a little at her farthest reach. Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she spotted a large glass of water on the table next to the bed.

Her mouth tasted like week old bread and gratefully gulped the whole glass down some of it escaped her lips and dribbled down her neck. Wondering how long she had been here, she started to dress, only having to sit a few times when dizziness threatened to overcome her and the room would start to spin. She had pulled on a shirt and breeches when the door started to open. Her daggers were next to the bed but Bethany knew her and came in talking.

“I sure hope you wake up today big sister.” Bethany spoke to herself, her hands balancing the tray with one hand against her hip as she managed the door. Marion cleared her throat and Bethany jumped quickly setting the tray down and rushing to hug her after Marion set her blades aside. Marion had worked up a sweat getting dressed and Bethany frowned when she pulled away. “You shouldn’t be up yet.” Bethany admonished putting a hand on her forehead to check for fever.

Marion smelled food and her stomach rumbled. Chuckling, Bethany got the tray and unloaded food onto the table; stew bread, cheese and ale. “I brought this for me, so let me go get some more¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬. You can sit there and eat till I get back.” Bethany hugged her again as she rose Marion smiled and hugged her back.

Bethany pointed toward the table and chairs, imperiously commanding her to sit before closing the door behind her. Marion had just reached the table when the door popped open again, Bethany stuck her head in. “Now eat!”>

Bethany returned with another tray of food, and Aveline in her wake. “How long have I been out?” Marion asked between bites of stew.

Bethany paused, and then started unloading the dishes onto the table and sitting down. Aveline paced the room. “Three days.” Bethany answered

“Why so long, I mean I knew it was deep but you are a good healer Beth.”  


“They poisoned the dagger with something like deathroot; it probably saved your life, but I don’t know much about poisons.” After a few bites Bethany explained that Meeran’s men had found her, but there had been no sign of Meeran. Marion had stopped eating at the mention of Meeran but neither Aveline nor Bethany seemed to notice. 

“No more avoiding this Hawke, I want to know who did this.” Aveline was an imposing presence and her sense of right and wrong made her as rigid as her shield. Hawke shrugged, putting her spoon down and regarded Aveline. 

She wished she had the energy to face her squarely instead of looking up at her. Aveline was forthright and outspoken, and protective as hell even if she didn’t agree with the why of how you got to needing her protection in the first place and Marion respected that, in fact counted on it.

“The Coterie doesn’t like the stir Athenril is making. So they made the point this time to get her attention.” She picked up a slice of bread and leaned back in the chair as she nibbled slowly. “Aveline, please sit down you are making me dizzy!” Aveline stopped, sighed heavily and sat on the bed as there were no more chairs.

“You are not to do any more jobs alone.” Aveline insisted. “I can help during my off duty hours, the three of us should be able to hold off these little attacks. I will make a report to Captain Jevin before I go off shift today.” She looked at Bethany and they exchanged a look that Marion caught.

“What else?” She questioned, pausing in her meal. As she looked from Bethany to Aveline, they both avoided her gaze. “Bethany?”

“There was something else on the blade, a poison I can’t identify. I can sense it; even hold it mostly at bay, I think it is a derivative of deathroot, so similar, but …. “ Bethany bit her lip and looked to Aveline and Hawke followed her gaze, asking Aveline the same question with a tilt of her brow.

“Well, that is the problem; we don’t know what it is so we can’t find a curative.” There is a shop in the Gallows, but it is still too dangerous for Bethany to go back there.”

“So just I go there.” Hawke countered. “What is all the fuss, I feel fine?”  
“Oh sure, now you do, but it won’t last an hour would be my guess.” Bethany added.  


Hawke thought of all the people she knew, but there was only Tom Wise down in Darktown, she had not however gotten the all clear from Meeran on the templar raids. How many days had he said? She could not recall.

“Aveline I need some magebane.” Aveline was surprised and Bethany said nothing. “You get the magebane, give it to Bethany then head to Darktown to find Tom. He comes here some nights, but not regularly so I think you need to go there.”

“What’s the magebane for, if you don’t mind my asking? I have been to Darktown before now with no trouble.” She grasped Bethany by the hand and squeezed. 

“The templars are running raids in Darktown this week.” She answered softly. Bethany hung her head in answer, but suddenly sat bolt upright, smiling.

“I’ll be right back.” She announced excitedly and jumped out of the chair, slamming the door closed in her haste to leave.

Aveline got up and took the chair Bethany had vacated, helping herself to some of the stew. “You were fevered for those days you were out Hawke.” Aveline didn’t look at her when she made this announcement.

Marion watched Aveline intently, not saying a word, allowing her to say what she needed without her prodding. “You talked a lot, a bit delirious, fevers do that.” She said matter-of-factly. Spooning another bit of stew into her mouth she watched Hawke for a reaction.

Hawke laughed and ate another bite of the bread she had forgotten was in her hand. “I guess.” She laughed it off, hoping to divert any further prodding. “Nothing too incriminating I hope?”

“Meeran came to see me.” Marion dropped the bread on the floor and bent to pick it up as she tried to mask her feelings from showing on her face. Aveline had a knowing smirk on her face.

“Maker, doesn’t he ever give up?” She asked, feigning innocence. Aveline smiled, her voice dropping when she next spoke into that tone that put the fear into whoever she directed that at.

“Apparently not. Were you aware his men were supposed to be watching you and screwed up? He offered his assistance should we need it.” Hawke let go a sigh of relief but then Aveline got the rest out. “He threatened Bethany and you did him some sort of favor to keep her safe, is that right?”

“All right Aveline; I have been consorting with mercenaries, yes they threatened Beth, no it wasn’t illegal, and beyond that it is now none of your business.” Hawke rose from the chair, her appetite gone and her head swam momentarily protesting the too sudden movement.

“Hawke, you need your friends. You cannot continue to act as though we can’t see you running around trying to save the world by yourself. Let us do our share at least. You can count on Bethany and me much more than you allow.” Aveline stared into nothing for a moment. Hawke thought she was thinking of her husband Wesley when she did that, but didn’t feel she should pry; Aveline was a very private person when it came to feelings.

“You are right Aveline, I should have.” Marion sat back down. “I will in the future.” Aveline nodded her acceptance.

Bethany chose that moment to walk in and closed the door behind her. The tension in the room was easier but Bethany still picked up on it; her smile vanished and she frowned at Aveline. Aveline merely shrugged and continued to finish her meal. Carver had been like that with Beth; protective of her while pretending not to care the while. Hawke remembered then, his helping her to get across town when she was injured. So like him to piss her off so she would do what needed doing and then being the pompous ass he was and not sticking around for the results. She missed him.

Bethany came to Marion’s side, feeling her forehead; Hawke leaned into that gentle cooling touch and closed her eyes. Dragging her back towards the bed, Marion tried protesting but it was feeble, not even trying to pull away as Bethany shoved her back onto the bed.

“Norah is going to send a runner with a note for Tom, so nobody needs to go anywhere, except Aveline.”

“Oh, where am I going?” She asked as she swung around on the chair. Bethany smiled.  
“To tell Athenril she is out of employees for the remainder of the week, or until Marion is feeling better.” Aveline nodded.  
“That is something I won’t mind doing in the least.” She reassured Bethany and turned to Hawke and pointed a finger in her chest. “And you stay put!”   
Hawke groaned and fell onto her side on the bed. “We can’t afford this.” She muttered.  
*~* 

Down the hall, Varric worked his magic; Norah found his runner, Varric provided the note and the coin to get Tom here, and the plot thickened. He wanted to meet Hawke personally, but it was too soon, even Bethany thought Norah was the big helper, just as Varric had set it up to be. He would stay in the background until the time was right, by then, if the information he had was good (it always was), he could approach Hawke with the offer of a partnership in a Deep Roads Expedition his brother was putting together. Bartrand was going to be shitting nugs, a vision that made Varric immensely pleased.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬


	7. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke reels with the knowledge she was poisoned, but can they find the ingredients needed to cure her?

“Fell Poison.” Tom Wise announced to the group of women clustered at the table in the Hanged Man. Bethany groaned and buried her face in her hands, on her other side Aveline looked at her with such intensity; her face grim, eyes flashing and narrowed so she could barely see their color. Marion felt her heart sink as she faced Tom again.

“Is there a fix?” She asked, keeping her voice even, trying to still her heart beating in fear.  


“It is difficult to obtain, but it does exist.” He held up a finger when Bethany would have interrupted. Marion felt a wave of calm begin to wash over her, giving her patience that she was not known to possess, soothing her normally rash tongue; she wondered if it was the poison. Aveline was a statue at her side, not moving as though time had stopped and it all started to seem surreal, Bethany to, was glued to Tom’s face as he continued. “The components for the cure are difficult, one; the Wilds Flower does not grow in the Free Marches, but does in the Wilds of Ferelden. Elfroot, is common enough, but Embrium; the last component is harder to locate in this region.”

“Can we mix up Elfroot to alleviate some of the side effects or to slow the poison?” Bethany asked.  


“Yes, the sooner the better.” Tom stood and looked at three very devastated women and prayed for a miracle. “I will start asking around.”

When Tom left, Marion rose from the table, calmness enveloping her like a shroud as she faced Bethany and Aveline. Their resources were dwindling; they had to work or risk being taken to the Gallows. Her thoughts veered towards Meeran, a powerful mercenary with powerful friends as well as enemies. She turned to Aveline, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Can you bring Meeran?” Aveline nodded and quickly left the tavern. Bethany walked with her up the stairs and into her small room.

“Beth, I need you to go home. Check on mother, make sure no one has tried anything there.” She wondered where the calm was coming from. “Get Father’s herbal journals and check what Tom told us.” I’ll come to Uncle Gamlen’s after Meeran leaves, until then, don’t come in here, just stay home.”

“Are you sure you can trust him?” Bethany wanted to know as she gathered her basket of herbs.  


“Outside of you and Aveline, I trust no one, and neither should you.” Marion began pulling off her clothing and washing up from the basin of water in the corner. She seemed constantly to perspire followed by tiredness, but she was determined to not give in to it. The water felt cool and refreshing on her face and neck. Bethany watched her for a moment, perhaps making sure she was not going to fall over before pulling out an Elfroot potion from the basket and handing it to her.

“Drink it all, I’ll bring more from home.” Marion nodded and watched Bethany leave before uncapping the small vial and downing it in one gulp. She grimaced at the bitterness and chased it with a glass of water. Calmness had its benefits, for one no one was arguing with her for a change, for another she was thinking with such clarity; no spur of the moment rant or smart remark even came to mind.

Marion knew this had something to do with Meeran, and the remark about Athenril during her attack had not been what she thought. Why would the Coterie care about some puissant thug that had no way of competing in their league? Being so close to the incident with Meeran, she wondered at a connection between the two. A rivalry between the Red Iron and the Coterie and if so, why did she matter to either of them? She was not especially beautiful, her body was not spectacular, her personality challenging and her manners lacking, so why her?

She thought as she dressed, pulling on her leather breeches, lacing them up once she tucked in the white linen shirt that billowed out and allowed the air to keep her cooler than her leather vest or armor would. Resting her head on her arms while she waited for Meeran, her thoughts raced, seeing connections where none had existed before until everything seemed like a conspiracy.

“You know sister; your talent for trouble astounds even me.” Marion raised her head and regarded Carver leaning against the door. She knew in her mind he was gone, but part of her wanted his presence, for reassurance, advice, there were so few who understood her as well as Carver had. She rose and he opened his arms holding her against his solid chest in brotherly comfort. She cried, but only a little, tears tracing down her cheeks to land on his broad chest. Carver stroked her hair; a steady soothing touch that calmed and relaxed her. She finally pulled away and gave him a smile as their hands interlocked.

“I don't know how to get out of this one Carver.” She admitted. Carver nodded and looked down at their hands.  


“You will, if only because there is no other choice for Bethany or mother, but do not lose too much of yourself when you do what needs doing.” Carver dropped her hand slowly and faded from sight.

The knock that came at the door startled her, so close on the heels of Carver. “Who is it?” She asked, hand on the door.  


“Meeran.” Hawke took a deep breath and wiped her tears from her cheeks before letting him in. She had not known what to expect, but a tender embrace had not been on her list. Right on the heels of the unexpected emotion with Carver she had to fight not to cry on his broad chest as he tightened his hold, but she found herself holding onto him for dear life and crying her eyes out.

Each of them; Bethany, Aveline, and herself were strong in different ways, but she missed having the strength of a man around. Losing her father, then Carver still tore at her gut and she was tired of leading, of being strong, no weakness allowed to show in this lousy town of cutthroats. 

On that thought, she tore herself from his grasp and went to the wash basin, pouring fresh water in and rinsing away the tears. Meeran came up behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders, leaning in until his lips were brushing her ear. “I am sorry Marion.”

Anger dashed any tenderness she might have felt on the breath of his repeated apology. “It seems to me you said that before. I want to know what you have to be sorry about, because we both know this goes deeper than my pissing you off.” When he stood before her she finally saw what she missed when he came in, haggard face, tired eyes, he needed a shave, and a bath. “Shit.” She said aloud as his amber eyes locked with her green ones and she couldn't stay mad at him, much as she had wanted to pummel him a moment ago. She ran one hand along his cheek and wrapped her other arm around his neck. Meeran leaned into her touch and sighed heavily.

“How much trouble are we in Meeran?” She asked after a moment. Meeran picked her up and brought her to the bed, laying down next to her and pulled her head to his shoulder. “That bad?”

“My men are outside, but I haven't slept in three days.” He pulled her in closer as he settled into the bed. “Sleep, just for a little, then we'll talk” Hawke wrinkled her nose at his body odor, but if he was really that tired, he would be no use to her. Once he began snoring softly, she squeezed out of his hold, removing his boots and loosening his clothing. She then sent one of Meeran's men to have Norah bring up food and a bath once evening fell.

Hawke fell asleep in her chair, head cradled atop her folded arms on the table. A sharp rap on the door and it swung open with servants bringing in the much needed bath as well as a tray of steaming hot food. She gave the guards a moment to eat while the bath was filled and she roused Meeran from sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed rubbing his face with a weary hand and waved his guard out once they finished eating their stew, both grabbing a piece of bread and putting it in their pockets as they left the room.

Hawke locked the door and began stripping out of her clothes, wanting the cleanliness of the bath more than anything at that moment. “You'll have to use it after me.” She told him as she slipped into the water with a relieved sigh. Meeran chuckled behind her as he took off his shirt and leggings until all he wore were his small clothes.

“Brazen hussy.” He joked as he plied himself to the stew with great relish. Hawke ducked under the water to rinse her hair and scrubbed it with the scented soap Bethany had given her. The scent of lavender filled the room, mixing with the hearty smell of stew and fresh bread. She caught a whiff of Meeran as he moved in behind her and wrinkled her nose.

“You stink.” She informed him without looking up. Meeran wondered if she knew what an intoxicating figure she made as she rinsed her hair, long thin neck, arms raised, full breasts jutting above the water. He grunted in response, stripping out of his small clothes and stepping into the other end of the bath to face her. He made no attempt to hide his erection and she squealed at the intrusion of his limbs as he nestled in with her. She laughed at his knees sticking out of the water but he was just grateful everything important was covered and settled into the bath. Marion scrambled out of the water over Meeran's weak protest but she had no desire to have his smell transferred to her now that she was clean.

Taking the last two remaining buckets of hot water, she poured one straight in and then turned her back to Meeran as she began drying herself. Once she was wrapped in a clean bed sheet she began the task of brushing her hair out. Her father had used to brush her hair when she had been little, a special treat that she had enjoyed, later she found that the simple task was calming for her, a chance to gather her thoughts. When she began to braid it, Meeran had come up behind her, so lost in thought that she hadn't heard him get out of the bath. He sat behind her, dripping water everywhere and pulled her against him, arms slipping around her. 

Meeran took the brush from her hand and set it aside, holding her firmly to him with her hair a silken curtain that teased every inch of skin that it touched. He pulled the bed sheet aside and palmed each breast until her nipples hardened into tight buds and she arched her back pushing into his touch as her arms reached over her head to pull him closer still. Meeran buried his face into her neck, covered by her hair and inhaled her scent as if it alone would wash him clean.

Hawke pulled from his grip and stood, the sheet dropping to the floor as she took his hand and drew him to his feet. She steered him neatly to the chair she had vacated and she put a finger on his lips when he would have protested. He admired her as she went to the dresser and rummaged around a moment before pulling out a small leather packet. Her hair covered almost all of her back, stopping just at the flare of her round, firm backside. Her legs were long, shapely and muscular, her movements graceful and smooth, like a dancer. When she turned she held out the package to him, but made no move to bring it within his grasp. Aware that his own manhood was jutting out from him, he twitched at her wicked smile, remembering that mouth and those lips.

“These were my brother's, but you may use them if you like.” He laughed when he opened the package to find a razor with a bar of soap, the scent of pine reached him as he took the last bucket of water and proceeded to shave the remnants of a three day stint without such amenities.

When he finished, he turned to find her just a foot away, Gathering her to him, he bent to take her mouth, growling when she opened for him and his tongue swept in to claim hers. Her arms encircled his waist pushing her breasts against his chest and her hands roamed farther down across his buttocks and thighs. Meeran reached around and picked her up, Hawke's arms wound around his neck and she pulled his head down, kissing him tenderly and his other arm caught her legs until his arms were full with her.

This was not the same uncontrolled desire that had last punctuated their sex, this was tender, seeking to touch each other, learning, knowing and feeling until Hawke was breathless. When Meeran bent to take her breast into his mouth she groaned as his tongue played with her, nipping, sucking and licking until she thought she could take no more. When he returned to take possession of her mouth she rolled him so that he was beneath her. Breaking the kiss she raised up until her heat was just over his cock and Meeran grasped her thighs tightly as she slowly lowered herself onto him. Inch by agonizing inch she took him in until he was fully seated within her.

When she moved, it was mesmerizing, breast swaying, hips rolling as she controlled the tempo, drawing out her pleasure as she rode him. Meeran ached for release but her current pace was set to drive him crazy with desire. He reached up to fondle her breasts, pulling and rolling each nipple until it was a hard nub and she began to drive faster against him. Unable to wait any longer, Meeran pulled her down to his chest and rolled her back under him. Her legs surrounded him as he drove into her and when her release came her legs tightened their grip as she arched her back muffling her groans against his shoulder. He felt his own release draw near and he pumped harder into hips that rose to meet every stroke. He took her mouth as he came and gentled the kiss as his seed filled her and the driving need abated.

As he rolled to the side he pulled her with him so that she was nestled to his side, her head against his shoulder. His hand met the scar on her shoulder and he frowned. He had stayed away from the city because he did not want to need her, did not want to bring her into the underworld that was Kirkwall any more than he had to. She was only skimming the surface of it working for Athenril. He had not planned having sex with her again, he had just been too tired and too long entrapped in the machinery that was the Free Marches to resist her. She was clean, young, and open with her body in a way even the best paid whore could not emulate.

This would end, they both knew it. When Hawke had fallen asleep against him he followed her, his arms drawing her close as her leg was thrown across his body and her hand rested on his chest. They had this night, maybe a few more before he would be forced to push back at the powers in the region. His men were already working to protect their territory, securing offices and their warehouse against any further attacks. It had seemed smart at the time to come here, be where she was and hope they would not dare that far just yet. But they were running out of time. 


	8. Becoming Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marion realizes the outer shell that is her life must harden if she is to survive and save her family.

Three months had passed since the incident with the Coterie. Meeran, Tom Wise and Athenril had all tried using their contacts to find out who had poisoned Marion and why, but no one was talking. They still did not know what the poison had been; Tom Wise claimed to be working on it but Marion was losing hope. She would die a happy person if she never had to drink another elfroot potion. She made a face that wrinkled her nose and pulled her lips away in a grimace. “Bleh, nasty stuff anyway.”

She maintained the room at the Hanged Man, distancing herself from the ones she would keep safe. Meeran kept a watch on the house in the evenings, but she never saw the men supposedly on guard. They were either very good, or Meeran was lying. She had not spent a great deal of time with Meeran since the attack and while she could have used night of release, he had stayed away by design or he truly was in that much trouble.

Her mother had started to talk to her when she came by on occasion but even so Marion would probably never forgive herself for losing Carver. She found herself depressed often enough that Bethany was starting to grouse about it. So, she did what she always had when there was no one to lean on, she supplied arrogance and a smart mouth to cover how she really felt, but it felt like a stone around her neck.

When the family noticed her weight loss she was invited to dinner at least once a week. She had to make herself eat, having lost her appetite and if she was busy she would forget to eat entirely. So dinner with the family at least made her mother feel like she was doing something to help.

She was on her way to Uncle Gamlen’s house and was surprised to see Meeran hanging around in an alcove next to the Hanged Man. She strode over and cocked an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest. Meeran looked around and signaled his guard to move away and drew her into the small alcove for more privacy.

Meeran looked rested, at least more than their last encounter but he looked harder as well, unshaven, eyes glinted dangerously in the lantern light and the lines on his face were more pronounced than she remembered. Or perhaps she had romanticized him to be more handsome than he was (younger anyway.) She smiled to herself remembering their two encounters with a small shiver up her spine but they seemed beyond that now when he showed no spark at all. She reached out a hand to touch a buckle on his armor, hoping he would touch her back in some way but instead he ignored her and moved a step back. Her hand dropped to her side.

“Athenril stole three cases of product from Harlan’s shipment two nights ago.” Meeran told her, pacing back and forth. He was tense enough to set her nerves on edge.  
“I know. I was the one that stole them.” She admitted. When he glared at her and shook his head Marion dropped any ideas of a friendly encounter. “That is my job Meeran, and you know it. What is the problem?” She readied herself for anything; her stance was loose but wired to strike quickly if he turned on her now. The menace radiating from him was almost palpable.  


“Athenril is getting into something she can’t handle.” When he reached into his armor Marion stiffened for a moment. But Meeran removed a roll of parchment and offered it to her. She didn’t take it, wondering at the anger he seemed to be holding just below the surface.

“Read it Hawke.” The change in calling her by her family name did not go unnoticed but she let it go. Ever since she had met him their relationship defied convention and she had never expected it to be anything more than sex, still, it seemed like one more arrow in the dirt at her feet.

When Hawke took the paper and unrolled it she frowned at the ornate script trying to decipher the fancy letters and drawings on the page. She gathered a few words; it was an invitation to some sort of party, no not a party, a gathering. Looking at the drawings, done in great detail around the edge of the parchment she was surprised that it was various couples copulating, writhing in pain, some were tied or gagged, and it did not look pleasant.

She raised her eyes to Meeran, and handed the scroll back, but he made no move to take it. “I had no idea you preferred such methods.” She sneered. When he pointed to the script he wanted her to read he brushed his fingers against hers but when she would have curled her hand into his he dropped back again.

“Oh, I don’t, but Harlan does. He doesn’t run the Coterie because he’s popular. His parties are meant to humiliate or punish his adversaries when he deems it necessary, and this only if he decides not to kill you outright.” When Hawke didn’t respond Meeran moved to grab her arms but she was ready, her dagger at his throat before he could so much as touch her sleeve. If he wanted to deal with Hawke instead of Marion, so be it. Without taking her eyes from Meeran she shoved the parchment back into his doublet. Her blade stayed at his throat until Meeran waved away his guard that had moved to intervene. 

“You seem a little, overdressed for such a party.” She teased him as she put her blade away. “When is the happy occasion?” Meeran looked at her for a long time, his amber eyes narrowed in thought. When he walked the few paces to the railing overlooking more of Lowtown she followed but kept a few paces away.

“You don’t read Orlesian Script do you?” Meeran questioned and Hawke snorted.  
“So, all that swirling and curly cues is actually a language?” Hawke tried to laugh but it came out brittle and coarse. “What does it say?”  
Meeran gripped the railing in front of him till his knuckles turned white. “The invitation is for you, Athenril, and me.” Hawke’s brows rose in surprise.  
“So why one invitation and not three?” Meeran laughed and it was decidedly unpleasant, Hawke winced.  


“Because my sweet, little bitch, Athenril and I were the ones that by deed or not got you into the city. We are being held responsible, but you, Harlan has _special _plans for.” A chill ran up her spine as Meeran reached very slowly into his belt and handed her a sealed envelope. When she took it from him she was surprised at the weight. He shook his head and left the alcove taking his men with him towards the Lowtown Markets.__

She opened the envelope slowly, getting very tired of all the nasty little surprises of late. Her mother’s locket fell into her palm with the same velocity as her stomach hit bottom. A scribbled note gave her a time and location for Darktown tomorrow night. She ran the short distance to Uncle Gamlen’s and burst into the door. The house was dark except for a single candle on the desk. Bethany’s locket lay there glaringly bright in the dark room.

She swallowed the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. Obviously she had no choice but to show up. She could ask around, see if anyone had seen anything but the Coterie. Harlan was nothing she could take on alone. She could talk with Aveline; at least get some advice, but she dismissed that thought almost as soon as she had it. Aveline would come in guns blazing and Hawke had no real idea what she was walking into. “A damn fuck fest is what.” She said aloud.

She had failed in the one thing her father had asked of her when he died; “Keep them safe Marion.” And that was all, such a simple request, yet she had utterly failed.  
*******  


She had till twilight to arrive. She drank the elfroot and chewed on a piece of bread. Her green eyes were dull from lack of sleep and her armor hung loose around her waist. She added notches to the buckles but it still hung wrong so she gave up. Marion stayed at the house until late afternoon and then made her way to Darktown and Tom Wise.

Tom was calm as always and surprised her with a light package. “What’s this?” She asked, even as she feared the answer.  


“I located the items we needed and whipped this up for you two days ago, in fact I was surprised you didn’t come by yesterday.” She opened the small box and took out a green glowing vial, but Tom quickly pushed her hand back into the box, covering the vial. “Don’t let anyone see that!” He whispered and withdrew his hand from hers.

“Tom, I have to tell you, I’m a little tired of surprises. What is this stuff?” Smiling he moved aside and she saw one of the cases she had stolen for Athenril.  


“The Coterie is using a blend of herbs and lyrium that given in small doses gives the symptoms you are already aware of. It’s not lethal, but certainly debilitating.” Hawke nodded for him to continue. “The lyrium mixed with deathroot was the problem, the only counter agent was held by the Coterie and they don’t sell it, hence your late night raid.” Athenril had not informed Hawke what she was stealing, only what to look for on the crates.

“Can I just drink it?” Tom shrugged.  
“Sure, but it tastes like shit.” He grinned and Hawke smiled back.  


“Thanks Tom.” She shook his hand and when he made to pull away she pulled him closer and whispered into his ear. “Take that stuff and make yourself scarce for a few days.” Tom’s eyes, if anything got even larger than they were already but he nodded.

“Drink all of that at one time. It should relieve the symptoms in a few hours.” She nodded and turned away not daring to look back. In a dark corner just shy of the rendezvous point she stopped and pulled the vial out, drinking it quickly and tossing the remaining packaging down a hole and into the sewer. Tom Wise was at least right about the taste; she prayed he was right about the results as well. 


	9. The Limit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harlan's sadistic and effective means of control have ensared Meeran, Hawke and Athenril, Can they pay enough in flesh to satisfy him?

Hawke climbed down the ladder leading to a deeper section of Darktown below the first. The sewers would be another floor or so farther down, but she hoped she never had to find out. She sniggered nervously as she thought; what do they call it, Darker Darktown? There were a few people hanging about but no one paid her any attention. She had no instruction beyond this point and supposed that she was going to have to wait. Keeping to the shadows, which weren’t difficult to find down here, she put her back against the wall and waited.

Kirkwall had such a pristine layer upon its dirty secrets; the problem being that the one layer was getting thinner against the growing cancer at its core. The bones of a man, at least by the shreds of clothing left hanging on him were undisturbed. He died or was dumped in that spot and no one thought twice about it. Hawke came to a decision that she did not want to become part of the lost in Kirkwall; she wanted to stop the ones who thought they could take your family in broad daylight and never worry about reprisals.

The children forced to labor or sold into slavery, the women selling their favors for a few silvers to feed their family, and they all shivered in fear against gangs like the Coterie or the Raiders. Meeran at least hired out to the city guard for the most part, but the lines started to blur after a time and one grew numb to the suffering. She never wanted that numbness, she never wanted to forget that this was someone’s son, daughter, mother, father, sister, brother, friend or lover. The year with Athenril was almost up, and then she would take an accounting and find people she could trust, but she despaired of finding them in the cesspool that was Kirkwall.

As she watched two men argue from across the corridor her vision grayed a bit around the edges and a wash of dizziness nearly brought her to her knees. Her stomach threatened to rebel but she gulped in air as she used her legs to keep her back securely against the wall. In her attempts not to pass out or throw up she did not hear the three men that came seemingly out of nowhere.

“Let’s go.” The first one motioned to a door that had opened next to the ladder, hence the reason they had appeared out of nowhere. She didn’t say or do anything to argue, these men were the bottom feeders of the Coterie and she needed to find and free her family; until then she would cooperate.

When a second dizzy spell slammed into her she stumbled but one of the guards caught her arm in time to keep her from falling into the dirt. A light sheen of sweat appeared on her upper lip and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“What’s wrong with you?” The first one asked.  


“You should know; your gang was who dosed me.” She mumbled and tried to walk without their assistance. The three said nothing and now both arms were held as they guided her through narrow dark corridors that turned so many times she was now unsure of where they were exactly. They stopped at another doorway and one man pulled a lever setting a fire trap that gave a short burst of flame. Great thinking she nodded; sewer, methane and flame; the whole fucking city was a time bomb.

Another door with a wider hallway led to a long set of stairs. The grip on both arms was firm but not painful so she didn’t fight when they guided her up the stairs and through another door into a well lit room. Hawke squinted against the light as it stabbed into her eyes. 

When her eyes adjusted she thought she recognized the place, it was at least somewhat familiar, the wall paper in burgundy and blue, the dark gray doors., carpets covered the floor, unusual enough and she had only seen that particular decoration at one place; The Blooming Rose. This was definitely an area not accessed by the normal clientele; crates of goods, a great many closed doors and the sounds of sex reached her ears; frantic moans and grunts that spoke of desperation, not pleasure.

Reaching the farthest door the lead man opened it and stepped aside as they guided her in. Madam Lucine was waiting for them, standing next to a large chair that faced away from them towards a fireplace on the far wall.

“Mistress Hawke, a pleasure.” Lucine inclined her head and stepped away from the chair as its occupant rose slowly and faced them. The man was well over six feet tall and proportionally wide at the shoulders and chest. Everywhere she looked was hard muscle from neck to thigh, and brazenly displayed in an open linen shirt with no sleeves and skin tight breeches of leather the color of melted butter. He was at least someone you would remember meeting; handsome devil. When she met his eyes he was smiling; full lips over clean white teeth, square jaw with a cleft in his chiseled features. His eyes were a dark blue, unfathomable, and hair the color of wheat flowed thick and straight to his shoulders.

“Take her weapons.” He commanded in a voice that was velvet over steel. Hawke didn’t bother fighting them as they searched her; she simply kept her eyes on Harlan even as they touched her everywhere in search of hidden reserve. In the end they had found them all and left with her weapons. Madam Lucine left as well and Hawke heard the outer door lock shut.

“Where is my family?” She asked, at least testing where this meeting was going and how she could get them all free. Harlan chuckled and came to stand in front of her, causing Hawke to crane her neck to keep his face in view. Harlan brought one large hand to tilt her head even farther and ran his thumb across her lower lip. She tried to stop the shiver but knew she failed when Harlan chuckled.

“I see we are going to get along just fine.” She felt a small stab into her shoulder when his other hand came to rest there.  
“Shit.” Was all she managed to say before collapsing in Harlan’s arms and darkness folded over her.  
***..***


	10. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter has some content that may trigger an unwanted response of anyone having dealt with rape or sexual abuse.
> 
> Harlan lives up to his reputation; taking Meeran, Athenril, and Hawke for a wild night of drug induced pain and pleasure.

The noise was like a low hum in the background of her mind. Hawke resisted the pull to wake up, her eyes heavy still, and the darkness appealed as it never had before. The humming grew louder and she frowned now, trying to ignore it. She made as if to turn in her bed but pain radiated through her shoulders at the sudden movement and a moan escaped her dry lips. Okay, that was it, she had to wake up. Why were her eyes so heavy? She tried to recall going to sleep as she rotated her shoulders against the mattress. The last thing she remembered was … Harlan, being drugged. Shit.

The humming was becoming voices, murmuring in the background and she fought to open her eyes. She could not bring her hands down from above her head, finally awake enough to feel the shackles at her wrists. Pulling on one leg at a time, feeling the same type of shackle at each ankle, she swore again. She opened her eyes to a candlelit room. In fact candles were everywhere, at least around the bed she occupied. Her armor had been replaced with a gauzy sarong that sparkled but was otherwise quite transparent to her naked body. What was she, the fatted calf? 

What was it Meeran had said; “Harlan’s parties are meant to punish or reward.” By the Maker which was this? Her hair had been loosed and draped over her shoulder so that it obscured part of her body. Her eyes were slowly able to focus enough to ascertain that a net had been draped over the entire bed and beyond the candles she could see nothing. Given the noise there was certainly an audience present and they were not all focused on her; grunts and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, some sounds were filled with pleasure, others screamed in pain.

She pulled at the wrist to test the strength and tightness of the bonds but it was snug. She heard a deep groan from across the room and she struggled, testing the leg restraints next but her feet were being held apart from more than a simple restraint, she could not bring her legs together at all.

The smell hit her as the netting was parted and Harlan stood there smiling; sex, sweat and cloying perfume that did nothing to cover the first two wafted across her face. She stared at Harlan, not daring to back down an inch, he would do what he wanted but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing fear. He had lost the slight covering he had worn earlier and his chest was bare. His muscular torso had a thin line of hair that disappeared at his breeches, which were still on him, thanks be to the Maker.

“Hawke,” He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a finger along her jaw. “Such a beautiful package you present us this evening.” He chuckled when she did not move, and stopped toying with her as he left the bed. He raised a hand to someone and the netting around her bed was raised. Her eyes never left Harlan; this was his party, his rules and so she waited to see what he would do next. With great effort she calmed her breathing and slowed the beating of her heart.

More candles were being lit, and her wrists were being pulled upward by a chain that wound on a pulley in the center of the bed above her head raising her until her torso was almost in a sitting position. The angle had all of her weight on her wrists and the metal shackles dug in. When she tried to use her hands to grab the chain and pull herself up a light crack of a whip behind her froze any farther movements. She saw the bar between her ankles then, and closed her eyes for a second, until someone sat on the bed again. A young male elf with no smile to offer very matter of factly pulled the sarong down until her breasts were exposed. His blue eyes roamed her body and then began massaging her nipples until they were hard peaks in his hands. Hawke bit her lip and refused to make a sound. It was impossible to ignore the hands that played her like an instrument until she felt the pooling between her legs and the small quivers that ran from her breasts to her very center.

She had never considered her body so traitorous before, this wanton heat that bloomed at a strangers touch in less than desirable circumstances. She should be yelling her fool head off and all she wanted to do was push into that hand, and it took everything in her to fight that urge. 

Just as quickly as the elf had started he stopped and left the bed and when she opened her eyes, not having remembered closing them it was to see Harlan again. She missed the chain in his hands as clamps were placed on each erect nipple and the chain stretched between her breasts and pulled. It hurt, damn it. She groaned aloud and her head fell back.

The groans from across the room were suddenly louder and Harlan ran his tongue across each nipple. She twisted, or tried to but the movement caused the clamps to bite down harder so she stopped, unable to keep him from his exploration with his mouth. Marion had never experience pain like this; heightened by the desire, harder than a lovers bite, and strangely erotic as the pleasure and pain intermingled into a single line of need.

Harlan moved away again and she tried to find a place in her mind that she could retreat to; somewhere she would not feel the pain or the pleasure. Raping would have been preferable to admitting this desire; she was humiliated by her own traitorous body’s responses.

The groaning had taken on a certain urgency from across the room and she tried to see the cause. To her shock, Meeran was on all fours, nude, his legs spread apart with a bar similar to the one she wore. One man had his hair in a fist while he shoved his cock into Meeran’s mouth, gagging him repeatedly. There were several bruises about his face and neck and a nasty one across the back of one shoulder. He was sweating heavily. 

As she watched, another man came up behind Meeran, his hands stroking his engorged member. Taking a candle from one of the sconces he tipped it over the cleft of Meeran’s ass and Meeran tightened up and groaned, choking on the cock still fucking him ruthlessly. She wanted to look away, tilting her head back from the sight but Harlan was there shifting in to sit behind her and forced her to watch. The man behind Meeran was still allowing hot candle wax to drip down and was rubbing the tip of his manhood into the stream. When he set the candle aside the man in front of Meeran pulled out his cock and demanded Meeran lick it as he watched the second man begin pushing his cock into Meeran, slowly at first, Meeran grunting with the effort to take the man in.

She watched as Meeran’s own cock became hard when the man began moving in and out until he was buried balls deep in Meeran’s ass. The man at the front laughed and shoved his member back into Meeran’s mouth and both men fucked him until he became just a receptacle for their pleasure. She did not recognize either man, both dark of skin and hair, but featureless in the semi dark across the room.

Harlan toyed with her hair and nibbled on her shoulder almost absently. She began to wonder what he had in store for her. She could feel his erection against her back but he still wore his breeches and seemed in no particular hurry to get to her “punishment.” She wondered where Athenril was. 

When the man at Meeran’s mouth came, he squirted onto his face forcing Meeran to lick off as much as he could reach as the man used his flagging erection to spread it across Meeran’ s face. The man behind was gripping Meeran’s hips so hard his fingers disappeared into the flesh at Meeran’s hips and the tempo was picking up. Small droplets of pre cum were dripping from Meeran’s erection and he seemed to be arching his back into the strokes as if he were enjoying it.

“Yes, he is enjoying himself, isn’t he?” Harlan whispered into her hair and his tongue played with her ear as his hands ran across her raised arms and brushing the sides of her breasts. “With everything you were all given, you really can’t help it.” 

At least she could blame her responses on a drug and not her own body and mind. Funny, she didn’t feel drugged. Remembering then that Tom Wise had given her an antidote for the poison prior to her arrival here, wondering if it changed the effects of the supposed drug Harlan had given her.

Then she remembered her family was somewhere in this madman’s care. Praying they were not in this room she hissed through her teeth when Harlan tugged on the chain between her breasts.

“Where is my family?” She demanded in a controlled low voice not meant for any but Harlan to hear.

“Would you like them to watch perhaps?” He asked in an equally low voice. Hawke closed her eyes as Harlan sunk his teeth into her neck and sucked on her skin.

“What I would like, “she said through gritted teeth. “Is for them to be returned home, unharmed.” Harlan’s hands grabbed her waist and lifted her until she was sitting on his lap. She breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure was taken off her wrists.

“And what would you trade for this boon?” His hand continued to explore and squeeze, pinch and soothe as he pulled the sarong completely away. Hawke tried to relax, tried to just ignore the things he was doing, pleasant or painful, if she let one feeling through, they would all consume her.

“Anything.” She answered finally, willingly sacrificing herself if it saved them. The only thing she had left to give away was herself.

“Done.” Harlan sounded triumphant and wasted no time in lifting her from his lap as he got off the bed and flipped her over onto her stomach. The chain that held her hands was once again pulled towards the head of the bed but the bar between her ankles would not allow her to do anything except reveal her backside to Harlan and anyone else he chose. 

She kept her face buried into the mattress and let the tears silently fall. When she lifted her head her hair covered her face effectively enough and she steeled herself for whatever they were planning on doing, and nothing in her imagination seemed pleasant.

A hand grabbed her hair and brought her face up; the elf from earlier pressed a cup to her lips. “Drink.” The elf commanded, pulling on her hair for emphasis. She drank and bitter ale was held to her mouth until she drank it down, some spilled and flowed down her chin and neck. She prayed that whatever they had spiked the ale with to make it bitter would take the edge off of what was to come. A sharp prick to her arm told of even more drugs being introduced.

The pain of having her legs spread at such an angle began to recede, the burn in her shoulders evaporated and a slow heat flushed her skin with a fine sheen of sweat. She vaguely acknowledged the wrist restraints being removed as everything seemed to slow down and amplify; sounds seemed close, colors brighter and she was afire in her own skin, her senses heightened. She stretched out with her hands and moaned when the chain between the clamps on her nipples caught on the bedclothes. No pain, pure unadulterated lust coursed through her.

She heard laughing but it seemed to echo off the walls as the room began to spin. When she dropped her head to the mattress her ass was pushed further into the air. Hands were massaging her flesh, too many hands. Her head was lifted by her hair once again and she stared into Harlan’s face as he checked her pupils. He kissed her then, plunging his tongue into her mouth with slow deliberation. Hawke kissed him back nibbling at those lush lips and playing with his tongue. Her arms reached around his neck and shoulders pulling him in closer until she was on her knees in front of him and he was leaning down to take her mouth with a possessive grip on her waist, one hand still knotted in her hair.

The first lash of the whip made her jump, but Harlan held her fast, his mouth still slanted over hers. There was little pain with the hit, more surprise than anything else, until it hit again. Harlan grabbed her arms when she tried to pull away, his greater strength pinning her arms to her sides as he began kissing her neck, her jaw, trailing his tongue to her nipples that now ached for his touch against the pain of the clamps. She heard herself moan as his mouth claimed her breast and she shouted aloud when the lash hit again, harder still.

Harlan’s mouth was everywhere, was the center of the storm as the lash began a steady rain upon her back and buttocks. The pain was fire that radiated down her limbs and pulled back to center by Harlan’s mouth on her breasts and his hands between her legs. She was moaning, clutching Harlan’s shoulders against the rain of pain on her back.

Just as suddenly it stopped and Hawke collapsed against Harlan. The leg restraints were removed by someone from behind but she didn’t care. Whatever it was Harlan had given her, and likely Meeran as well took away all inhibitions and she only cared about the sensations on her skin, the drive for release.

Harlan lowered her to the mattress and allowed his hands to keep stroking her, entranced at the unadulterated sex that she exuded. Most of his guests were unwilling participants that required the drug to achieve minimal damage and ultimate pleasure. He did not care about anything except the act of manipulating his enemies, and showering Hawke with his special attention was going to draw certain conclusions among his men that he would not entertain.

So after a moment he left the bed that held Hawke and signaled his favorites that they could help themselves to Hawke just as he had offered Athenril and Meeran earlier. Hawke was a sensual creature and had required much less of a dose than Meeran or Athenril. Harlan smiled as one man filled Hawke’s pussy and another was entering her ass, she was sandwiched between them and moaning, probably completely unaware that several people would have her tonight.

Harlan left instructions for Hawke's care and left the room. She would be brought to him later, to the baths in his private chambers where he would finish this night for them both. 


	11. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marion Hawke attempts to deal with the aftermath of the party held by the Coterie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This may trigger an unwanted response in those who have suffered physical trama, read at your own risk!
> 
> This story does not follow the canon of the original Bioware DAII who owns the content of the game, I merely took those characters and circumstances from a single line in the story and expounded from there.
> 
> This was a particularly difficult chapter to write and became darker than I anticipated. I hope you read it with that in mind and provide feedback whether you liked or disliked it. I try to give feedback to stories I read on AO3 because I know how fragile a writer's ego can be. Thank you in advance.

Her head felt like someone had driven a pike through it, was the first thought Marion had upon waking, piercing pain behind her right eye and temple, worse hangover ever. She kept her eyes closed and listened for any sounds about but all seemed quiet. When she did finally begin to stir she hissed against the pain on her back. She tried to recall what she had been doing before falling asleep and it struck her; the memory of Meeran on his knees, lost in lust and the fog of whatever drug Harlan had administered.

The more awake she became the more aware she was that every part of her hurt; she was sure she had suffered the same wanton abuse as Meeran had, especially since she was sore in parts she never had to deal with before. Thankfully, she remembered nothing of it.

She was lying on a bed in a large room; the walls were cream and baby blue, two chairs were arranged before the fireplace whose flames lit the room, she was nude and she smelled. Her stomach heaved as she realized it was blood and semen that was covering her body and stuck in her hair. She made herself sit up on the side of the bed, her headache keeping time with the beat of her heart. Hearing a door open she grabbed the sheet to cover her and was marginally successful as a troupe of elven servants brought in a tub and poured bucket after bucket of water; steaming and inviting.

She recognized the one male elf as Harlan’s assistant and glared at him. He bowed slightly, and smiled. He watched until the bath was done to his liking them ushered the others out who had purposefully avoided looking in her direction. The one who stayed was typical of the other elves she had seen around Kirkwall; shorter than the average human male, ears that jutted outward, and large luminous eyes that were quite striking.

“My name is Jethann. If you wish assistance with your bath Mistress Hawke, I have been instructed to make myself available to you.” Hawke ignored him, choosing to say nothing instead of losing her temper; Jethann had seen her the night before, so she tried to appear as aloof as possible, keep the exterior Hawke hard and unassailable, at least until she could figure out when the nightmare ended. So long as no one could tell you were rattled, she could manage the rest.

Dropping the sheet Hawke walked to the tub and eased herself into it, her back now to Jethann. Her entire backside burned in the hot water but she said nothing when she took the soap he handed to her and began the chore of cleaning her hair. When Jethann volunteered to assist with washing the sticky mass she found herself allowing it; and vaguely wondered where her emotions had gone, she just felt empty.

Jethann methodically began to lather her hair and a wash of shame and humility nearly overwhelmed her; tears streamed unnoticed down her face, she could not trust herself to voice what she felt without releasing the scream that stayed at the back of her mind, urging for release. She closed her eyes as the sight of the once clean water filled with the filth from her body and made her want to jump out of the once inviting bath. 

When Hawke was instructed to stand she did and Jethann poured clean water over her skin and bade her step from the bath. To his credit Jethann did not smile or attempt conversation; he could have been cleaning the privy for all the emotion he showed and for that she was grateful. Wrapping her body in a bathing sheet he steered her to sit before the fire and began the slow process of combing her hair as she sat motionless, tears spent, and her eyes wide and unseeing as she watched the play of flames licking each other as they danced. Hawke felt curiously detached, a fog that seemed to settle over her; protecting what little awareness remained.

She wasn’t sure how long it had been since Jethann had stopped brushing her hair. He did not attempt conversation and for brief periods she could forget there was anyone in the room with her. She prayed her family was home safe and sound and that they would never know the many foolish choices she had made to bring her to this moment.

She was almost nodding off to sleep when she felt the touch on her shoulder….  


Hawke was in the corner of the room panting heavily as she came back to herself. She blinked several times to clear a vague vision of naked men from her head and the room came back into focus. Jethann was kneeling a few feet away, speaking quietly to her, a calming voice that brought her back to the present. She quickly scanned the room to make sure they were still alone and then leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Jethann gave her plenty of space to clear her head and get back under control but his eyes never left her.

“How long have I been here?” She whispered, her voice sounded like gravel. “I mean, since … “ She couldn’t finish. And looked away as Jethann sat on the floor near her but not touching.  
“They brought you in yesterday, you’ve been in and out since, mostly out” He kept his voice low. She nodded, still looking at the wall instead of his face.  


“And, how long was I, um, you know ….. at the party? She finished and could feel her face heat up with embarrassment, although the Maker knew she had probably been fucked by every letch in Harlan’s employ and her embarrassment should now be checked at the door.

“You were there for several hours.” Jethann held out his hand and she saw him edge closer to her. It took everything in her not to cringe from the contact even though he had not even touched her yet. “Harlan may come any minute now; you need to pull yourself together before he sees you.”

“Where are my clothes?” She demanded as panic filled her at the thought of facing Harlan in this vulnerable state. Jethann continued to hold out his hand, his large blue eyes bored into hers until she finally placed her hand in his.

“Harlan won’t give you back your clothes until he is ready to release you.” He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her back into the bathing sheet. “I have a healing potion to give you.”

“No more drugs.” She said flatly.  


“I swear it is only a healing potion, it will help you to be stronger when you face him if you are not fighting your body at the same time.” Jethann led her back to the bed and went to the desk to pull out a small vial. It was what you would expect of a healing potion but Hawke sniffed it before taking a small swallow, grimacing at the familiar bitter taste then drank it all swiftly.

As she waited for the potion to take affect her stomach rumbled loudly. Jethann went to the door and opened it. Another group of servants came in and removed the tub followed by two more bearing trays of food. Once they all had left the room, Jethann once again offered his hand and Hawke took it with some trepidation and sighed as no further visions came back to haunt her. She felt like a child; vulnerable and dependent. Jethann was starting to seem more like a friend than an enemy but she no longer trusted her own judgment.

The headache began to recede as was the pain at her back. She took a deep breath at the sudden freedom that gave her and stretched her muscles at her back by rolling her shoulders. Not even a twinge remained.

As they both ate of cheese, bread and fruit Jethann made her drink glass after glass of water, claiming it would help flush her of any remaining drug. She found the bread easiest on her stomach and nibbled at it in the silence while Jethann ate his fill.

“Did you perhaps take anything prior to arriving at the rendezvous point?” Hawke had to think, the day Tom Wise had given her the antidote seemed to belong to another time period.  
“A supposed antidote for whatever poison was given to me by the Coterie.” She answered. Jethann nodded as if he was expecting the answer.  


“Harlan knows it was something, as he usually administers the cure during the party. His cure also includes several herbs that can stimulate physical needs, which plays well with his little parties.” He coughed into a napkin, avoiding Hawkes gaze. “What normally should have been a few hours of fun turned into a full blown orgy with you at center stage.” He chanced a glance up at Hawke and saw her listening intently. “We had to keep giving you a sedative to calm you until it wore off.”

“Who in their right mind would want to have sex with someone covered in semen and blood?”  


Jethann simply raised a brow in question his red-blond hair falling across one eye as he tilted his head. “Most at these participants are “helped” to be more uninhibited than normal.” He was about to say more when the door opened and Harlan appeared. Jethann was quick to his feet, offering Harlan his chair before leaving as Harlan motioned him out.

Harlan had changed into a white linen shirt, dark leather breeches. The leather vest he wore was intricately designed and hardened; made to prevent any close quarter knife attacks. His dark boots rang on the bare floor until he reached the carpet before the fire. Hawke never moved, keeping to the chair still wrapped in the bathing sheet as Harlan sat down and stretched his long legs before him. They regarded each other for some moments before Harlan chuckled and sat up to serve himself from the tray of food.

She watched Harlan out of the corner of her eye but looked to the fire so she did not have to look at him while making sure he stayed where he was.  
“I have employed a healer to come take a look at you.” He relaxed back into the chair and smiled at her as if expecting to be congratulated for his efforts.  


“My sister can take care of that, provided you did as you said and released her and my mother.” He nodded, attempting to smile, but instead he just looked feral; teeth bared and eyes narrowed.  


“Of course, I always keep my word.” He remarked. “Just as I expect you to keep yours.” Hawke frowned, trying to remember what she had said but nothing but fragments came to mind and had nothing to do with Harlan. “I do believe you promised me anything I wanted.” He folded his massive arms across his chest and looked like a satisfied cat as he waited for her to respond.

Hawke searched her memories of the day she had arrived here and only had a vague remembrance of even talking to Harlan, but she didn’t think he would lie. “And what is it that you want?” she had kept her voice steady but it took considerable effort to maintain the hard outer shell.

“You.” Was all he replied as he rose and came to stand behind her. Hawke tried to stay perfectly still, giving Harlan no indication of the turmoil coursing through her mind even when she wanted to jump up and shove her fist into that smug expression.

“What is wrong with Kirkwall? Everyone is either trying to kill you, rob you, or fuck you!” She finally blurted out her question as Harlan ran his hand through her hair, partially to hide her nervousness, but she could not believe this man wanted to have her after the last twenty four hours. Harlan only laughed out loud and dropped his hand when a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter.” He bade in a very commanding tone. The door opened to a man in his thirties, blond hair tied back at his neck, a large coat showing significant wear but had feathers about the shoulders that seemed clean and shiny compared to the rest of him. He was tall with amber eyes and extremely inviting lips.

“Alright, I’m here, now what?” The man demanded in a deep voice that had the slightest accent and pitch that made you look at him again. The man stared at her openly but folded his arms across his chest defiantly and frowned at Harlan. “Need a babysitter?” Hawke stiffened but said nothing, turning to look towards the fire again, dismissing the man as he had dismissed her.

“She needs healing.” Harlan stated simply. “And you need a way to pay your debts.” The man stared at her more intently and Hawke could not seem to help herself as she looked into those amber eyes.

“Healing a whore is surely something your regular people can take care of, so why me?” Hawke rose and faced them both, anger and indignation evident in every taut muscle.  


“I don’t need healing.” She stated then turning to Harlan eyes blazing. “Can we just get on with this?” Harlan shook his head and brought his hand to wrap around her cheek, his other hand making a trail along the side of one breast.

She became aware that she was up against the wall, curled into a tight ball with her hands locked behind her head as if to ward off a blow. Her breathing slowed and she tried to remember what had been happening to bring her here. Harlan and a strange blond man were staring at her from across the room. She remembered Harlan touching her then and bit her lip as she stood up; thankful that she still wore the bathing sheet.

“I want her whole, in mind and body.” Harlan explained to the man. “And no, she is not in my employ here.” Harlan looked at her a moment more. “Hawke, meet Anders, Anders, this is Hawke.”

“What the hell have you done to her?” Anders asked as he came forward a few steps in Hawkes direction.

“Nothing,” Hawke heard herself speak. “He has done nothing.” She held up her hand to stop Anders from getting any closer.  


“You have one night to fix this. If you can do that, we will leave things alone for a few months.” Harlan spoke as he made his way to the door.  


“And if I can’t?” Anders asked, his eyes never leaving Hawkes face.  


“Then I suggest you find a new line of work.”


	12. Blind Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Hawke are left alone and they both try to deal with the situation created by the Coterie

Anders frowned at Harlan’s retreating back as the door shut leaving him alone with the woman Harlan had introduced as Hawke. He wondered at the name for a moment; nickname, real name, who knew but unusual enough for a woman. She had turned away from him when Harlan left the room and the bathing sheet she wore had dipped below her shoulder blades to reveal fresh lash marks, fresh from the skin’s pink appearance was his judgment and he felt outraged and the anger threatened his own tenuous control.

“You can quit staring.” She said bitterly and Anders stood straighter as she turned and faced him, prepared to give a witty rebuttal but was completely unmanned by the sheer terror he saw in her eyes. He nodded and looked about the room, noticing the trays of food that had been only partially consumed. He was hungry, and meals were scarce in Darktown as all of his funds were helping those in worse straights than even he, the food was tempting to say the least.

“Go ahead, eat.” She encouraged him finally when his gaze didn’t leave the trays of food. Hawke had not really seen him before, at least other than a general sense, but his cheeks were gaunt and there were dark circles under those honey eyes. Anders reached absently to put a stray strand of hair that had escaped its ponytail and tuck it behind his ear where it promptly escaped again. Hawke took a step towards him, and then hesitated, unsure what about him was drawing her; he was a bit rumpled, as if he slept in his clothes, and upon closer examination she saw the stubble on his cheeks, the chapped lips. Anders gave her a sideways look and nodded but as he stepped towards the chairs he turned back towards her.

“I would appreciate it if you ate as well, at least then Harlan may not charge me for my upkeep while I am here.” Anders smiled with his lips and he looked sad, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. When Hawke continued to regard him Anders tried again, “Please?”

Hawke came forward and Anders made sure to keep some distance between them as he went the long way around the two chairs before sitting down. When he looked for her to take what she wanted before helping himself he was struck by the sight of her in the play of firelight on large green eyes and olive skin. Her hair, black and falling in heavy waves where she had pulled it forward to hang as a curtain of modesty over her breasts, and he almost reached to touch the strands that reflected the firelight so beautifully. She was a stunning woman, beautiful, more beautiful than Anders had ever seen, and he had seen many. He coughed to cover his staring and made an effort to focus on the food before them.

Hawke shivered as Anders began eating and she could not seem to stop staring at the man. She should have been uncomfortable under his gaze but she had only felt curiosity at his interest. She took a piece of black bread and took small bites as she waited to see what he would do next. She had taken a potion and felt at least that the imminent danger to her had been eased. “They did give me a healing potion not long ago.” She volunteered. An image of him healing her came to mind and she did not recoil from the thought. No one but Bethany and their father had ever performed a healing on her and she was suddenly curious if a stranger’s touch would feel different somehow.

“Did it help?” He asked her as he once again ignored the food and they continued to stare at each other. As he brushed crumbs from his hands she noticed his hands; long fingers with clean nails in fact everything about him was neat and tidy, except his hair, but even then it was clean, just unruly, red-gold that shined.

Hawke shrugged, then nodded when she returned the bread to her plate and quit trying to pretend she was hungry. “I suppose it did. “ She spoke, her voice deep and scratchy sounding as if she had a sore throat. “My headache is gone, and my back … feels better.”

Anders felt his heart ache for the visible abuse. He was a good healer, mostly because he could not stand to see someone in pain or in the throes of illness. He had never dealt with another person’s emotional trauma, and he wasn’t sure quite how to proceed.

Anders had had his share of abuse; the year spent locked up away from any human contact had almost driven him mad. What little contact had been given had been at the hands of templars who had taken his body for their pleasure and he … had allowed it, even participated in it to get that touch, that moment, when they would talk to him and break the cycle of loneliness. His mind roiled at those memories and he had to fight to keep himself contained. Outwardly there was no sign of the battle that was a way of life for him now.

“I would like to help, if I could.” He said softly. “I know some of what you must be feeling.” He told her as his eyes left her to stare into the fire, and the look on his face reminded her of how she had felt earlier when she just wanted to forget and lose herself in those dancing flames.

“I don’t know what you could do. My father ... he was … a healer as well, and I never heard of him treating anything like this.” She surprised even herself when she admitted to having a mage for a father, not something she had ever done before.

Anders could not contain his surprise; his eyebrows rose as he turned to look back at Hawke who avoided his eyes by continuing to stare at the flames. Anders did not pursue with the myriad of questions and instead turned back to the flames as well. Patience must win out over his never ending curiosity and the need to fix broken things. He could not help Hawke if she was not interested in being helped; he knew all too well what happened when anger replaced that pain and shock, he ached to keep her from taking that path. At just the thought of his own anger he felt the old pain rise up and fought to tamp it down again.

Hawke noticed his face harden, the jaw muscles jumping as he clenched his teeth. He seemed a million miles away of a sudden. He poked at the fire with jerky, unrestrained stabs before dropping the poker and turning towards her with such quickness Hawke rose from the chair and took a step back, placing the chair between them.

“Why did Harlan choose you for this task?” Hawke asked him. Anders halted his forward motion and frowned as he thought how much he should reveal.

“I run a free clinic in Darktown, mostly helping Ferelden refugees who have no other recourse. The Coterie decided they should be benefitting by my little operation and since I have no coin, I am occasionally asked to do other tasks in the little spare time I do have.” He dropped on his haunches in front of the fire and fed a few more logs of wood as he spoke, avoiding Hawke entirely. “I rarely close the clinic, live there if you want to know the truth so my hours are pretty irregular”

“How do you get by without coin?” Hawke persisted.

“Simple enough; the refugees give me food, old clothing that I make into bandages, candles, oil, an occasional blanket, I get by. It is enough.” Hawke thought he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anything else. “They have little enough as it is.” His voice had gotten softer and Hawke found herself mesmerized at the sound, drawn to him despite the fact she hardly knew him.

Maker, here she was doing it again! How could she have learned nothing of men in the last few months that she could start being drawn to another complete stranger! She felt like a fool. 

For his part Anders had been staring into the fire and lost in his own thoughts while Hawke silently withdrew. When Hawke turned and went to the bed he saw her hesitate as she leaned on one of the four posters one arm wrapping around the wood and her other arm holding the bathing sheet with her back to him.

“Did I say something wrong?” Anders questioned, hesitant to approach her but he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and offer what comfort he could. “I am sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you.” Anders rose to his feet and took a tentative step towards Hawke before noticing her shoulders shaking. He saw the crumpled and dirty linen on the bed and cursed Harlan and his ilk.

“Stay there, I’ll be right back.” Anders moved to the door and spoke to someone on the other side but Hawke paid little attention to what was said.

Anders harangued the staff and got a clean change of bedding as well as a dressing gown that made her feel uncomfortably feminine and vulnerable. She saw Anders’ eyes turn to molten amber when she appeared from behind the dressing screen and had to fight hard not to cross her arms across her chest. Yet she was strangely thrilled at the way he looked at her; shivering slightly under his gaze as she walked towards him slowly.

It at least covered her entirely from neck to floor even though the material hugged every curve and fell in silky streams. It was hard to describe how the silk felt against her skin; soft, sleek and revealing and the pale green shined in the firelight so that she almost glowed. Her hair fell forward on both sides of her neck to frame her face in a black cloud and completely cover her bodice and waist.

Hawke felt like she could at least breathe a little easier, at least she had clothing and the disgusting bedding was gone. She regarded Anders for some time as he had marshaled in the servants who had efficiently and quickly taken care of the bedding, and was downright shocked when he had insisted on clothing for her. Grateful, yes, but she was still wary as to why he would go to such lengths to help her. Never having a great deal of experience with men who wore their hearts on their sleeves Anders was a novelty.

“Did you bring your kit with you?” She asked as she took a seat at the fire once again. Anders brow furrowed in question.

“My kit?” Hawke nodded and ran her fingers through her hair distracting Anders entirely and he tamped down the urge to touch that mass of curls and willed his growing erection to remain undetected.

“Yes, healing supplies; bandages, a knife or scissors?”

“Why do you need those things?” He asked quietly. She fingered her hair once again and looked at Anders as she tossed it all behind her back.

“Cut my hair.”

“What? But, why? Your hair is very ….. “Anders shut his mouth and pursed his lips together to prevent further revealing how attractive he found Hawke.

“Yes it is, very much a distraction, and a distraction I could do without.” When he would not meet her gaze Hawke came to stand right in front of him, the tip of her nose on level with his chin so he had to look down slightly and felt himself lost in a pool of green as their eyes locked. “I want you to cut it off.” Anders could only nod in the face of her request and he actually shook as he restrained himself from taking her into his arms right there. Hawke seemed to lean a little closer before shaking her head and taking a seat once more.

Instead Anders removed his coat and took his small bag of supplies from a hidden pocket. He had expected Harlan to provide everything he needed but this small bag he carried with him at all times.

“It is going to look horrible.” He complained as he sat her down and began to cut handful after handful.

“It won’t be a problem.” Hawke assured him. “Cut it as short as you dare.”

In the end her hair was a jagged mess of varying lengths and Anders was sure to catch hell from Harlan. He put his kit away and made to put his coat on. But when she faced him once again he found her even more stunning. Her neck was long and graceful, and her jaw was strong, her cheekbones made more prominent, and her eyes were large luminescent green over delicate nose and full lips. He had wanted his hands in her hair before, now his tongue wanted to trail kisses along her jaw and neck and possess those lips. He almost missed her next words as he struggled with his composure.

“If you would care to stay … well, I need to sleep and Harlan won’t enter if he thinks you are still here, at least I hope that is the case.” Anders stopped himself from putting on the coat and slowly placed it back on the chair. 

“I can sit here until you wake up. I promise, but I can’t promise to stay awake, it’s been a long few days.” Hawke nodded and bit her lip as she regarded first Anders then the inviting bed.

“You could sleep next to me, it might feel safer.” She ventured.

“Maker, Hawke, I am not a saint, and you are … “

“What?” she coaxed.

“A temptation I can ill afford.” He told her bluntly. Hawke actually smiled. 

“You would never take advantage that way.” She dared tell him. She hoped she had guessed right and as he struggled with his decision she was surer than ever he should stay. If he was like any other man, he would have taken her offer in an instant.

“You should trust me less Hawke.” Anders rubbed the back of his neck and seemed torn between the door and the bed.

“If that were true you would not have said it and I have little choice. I need more time before facing Harlan and you can buy me that time. Please, I cannot do this alone.” She was wringing her hands together at the last admission; setting aside her pride was not something Hawke was used to doing.

“All right, but keep your clothes on, I am not made of steel.”

In the end she lay on her side turned away from Anders as he lay down next to her with a mere few inches separating them. He was surprised that no further panic attacks had troubled her but was not convinced they were completely gone. He put his hands behind his head to prevent himself from taking her into his arms and her scent wafted over him like a spring shower.

He closed his eyes and thought about the clinic, things that needed his attention when he returned, anything but the woman at his side. It was but a few minutes before Hawke’s breathing deepened and she fell asleep. Anders relaxed a little more and it wasn’t long before his own eyes closed and he followed her into a deep dreamless sleep, a rare and welcome occurrence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank you for taking the time to read my work, and hope you enjoyed the trip. I would appreciate any comments you have and Kudos are always welcome!


	13. Love Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marion Hawke get a brief glimpse into the tender possibilities of love before Justice intrudes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics used are not mine, they are from a song by Christina Aguilara in the movie Burlesque called "Bound to you", and I can claim no credit for this nor the characters used, which belong solely to Bioware. I, of course, have taken many liberties in the gray areas hinted at but never used by Bioware. 
> 
> Be WARNED: this chapter contains imagery of rape and may contain an unwanted emotional response in any who have suffered sexual abuse.

Hawke woke to find she had turned to the mage Anders in the night; her head pillowed upon his shoulder, one arm draped across his stomach and her leg thrown across his thighs. For his part, Anders had turned towards her slightly so that his lips brushed her forehead and one arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders while his other hand lay gently upon her own. Like a lover.

The only other man she had ever fallen asleep with had been Meeran, but Meeran had experience, was older, more cynical, this felt, different. Anders was the opposite; he had truly cared for her even knowing her for just a short time, he did not ask her many questions, he had cut her hair and never once baulked, gotten her clothing and a clean bed without ever expecting anything. He had slept next to her and offered protective comfort that she never expected to find, especially in the hands of Harlan.

Hawke studied his hand that held hers captive and saw the rough skin and jagged nails bitten to the quick; clean though with long, strong fingers. The jagged nails evidenced some worry or nervousness he had never shown. Careful not to awaken him before she finished her perusal, she slipped her thumb out from under his hand and slowly ran it along his wrist and felt his pulse matching her own, strong and steady. His chest rose and fell but she was afraid to remove her hand and investigate the solid looking chest that cradled her cheek. He smelled of simple soap and the salt air that permeated everything in Kirkwall. She did not resist the urge to bury her head, breathing deeply of his scent, and leaned into his masculinity, as if it were a refuge.

Anders stirred slightly and shifted towards her until he faced her fully and his other arm went to her waist drawing her closer as he settled back into sleep. His hair had become unbound, covered his forehead in wisps of red-gold, and stuck out around his ears, flowing down the back of his neck. His eyes remained closed and she marveled at the long brown lashes that lay upon his cheek and the darker stubble that ran along his jawline. Unable to resist she laid her hand upon his cheek, going higher to tuck errant strands of hair behind his ear then running her thumb over his brow. He seemed so innocent in sleep; none of the lines showed that marked a man’s worries or laughter. His nose was straight and hawk like and did nothing to detract from his well-formed lips that looked made for kissing.

She wanted to kiss him, wanted to discover if that physical side was as wide open, as his heart appeared to be. His lips were but inches from her and she closed her eyes as she craned her neck to place her lips upon his in a gentle kiss; a simple meeting of lips that felt soft and pliable against hers. When she pulled back again and opened her eyes, it was to see Anders watching her intently, his amber eyes a wonderful warm rich golden brown that held her gaze. 

Her leg was still over his and she tightened her hold; drawing her pelvis to his, feeling the hardness of his erection through the thin silk gown. Seeing his eyes darken and feeling his arm pull her closer so that her breasts now plastered to his chest as he leaned in and kissed her, she moaned as shivers raced down her spine. Slowly at first, but when he found no resistance he ran his tongue along her lips begging entrance. Hawke opened to his probing mouth and felt her breath catch as he made love to her lips, tongue and teeth; no one had ever kissed her in such a leisurely way, as if they had eternity to explore each other. She kissed him back and felt her body respond as he brought a hand to her neck and took control of his exploration. 

“Hawke …. I, I’m sorry.” Anders pulled away suddenly and practically jumped from the bed as Hawke struggled to understand his sudden withdrawal. She pulled herself up slowly and gathered her knees to her chest as she watched him look for his jacket and pauldrons. He would not meet her gaze, when he made sure his clothing was intact and patted his various pockets to make sure nothing was missing. He took a napkin and picked up something dark from the floor, quickly shoving it into his jacket.

She could think of nothing to say to his obvious withdrawal. It was plain he had only responded to her in the throes of sleep and quickly leapt away once he realized who she was. She bit her lower lip to still the trembling at the unexpected hurt that caused and willed her tears back, practically choking on the effort. She could not say anything while she struggled to get her emotions under control, it would only embarrass Anders and humiliate herself.

“I have to go.” He told her and practically sprinted from the room. As the door shut, she slowly rose from the bed, looking at the impressions, still clear from his body and smoothed the linens out in case anyone else noticed. She could still not believe he had left so quickly, wanting to believe it had been more than a dream. She was beginning to doubt her own sense of reality as the pendulum that was her life swung into motion once more.

Feeling the now familiar outer shell that protected her emotions from the world settle firmly around her, she tried to push away all thoughts of Anders, he had no place in what she was about to endure with Harlan. She would save his memory for later, when comfort and sweetness would be elsewhere. Her heart ached for the necessity even as it steeled itself against further intrusion.

Sweet love, sweet love, trapped in your love  
I've opened up, unsure I can trust  
My heart and I were buried in dust  
Free me, free us

You're all I need when I'm holding you tight  
If you walk away I will suffer tonight

Back in his clinic in the bowels of Darktown Anders slammed the door and relocked it, making his way to the small area he slept in, at the back of the room, dark and hidden from view. His hands shook as he pulled the napkin from his pocket where he had stuffed a handful of Hawke’s once long tresses. Carefully removing every strand, he wove it into an intricate braid, which he then tied on both ends with leather straps. He fingered the silky rope and lifted it so he might smell her scent. He had been so close to making love to her, so damned close, until Justice had threatened to awaken and he had panicked.

He had fallen in love with a woman he barely knew, and the timing was horrible, he was not even sure Justice would allow him to have a relationship outside of their plans.

I found a man I can trust and boy, I believe in us  
I am terrified to love for the first time  
Can you see that I'm bound in chains?  
I've finally found my way

I am bound to you  
I am bound to you

 _“She is not part of our plans, she cannot be.”_ His mind spoke as Justice responded. Fingering the braid, he shoved it under his pillow and made to change clothes for the day until he realized he could smell her scent all over him. Tears fell unnoticed as he folded the shirt carefully and laid the braid inside before placing them under the pillow together.

He had made choices that were irreversible, no matter what he wanted now. He hoped she did not hate him for being the coward and abandoning her to Harlan. Oh, Maker, he had abandoned her to Harlan, _oh fuck_. She must surely hate him. Justice stirred and reminded him of their quest, and Anders could only mourn his actions with as much privacy as Justice allowed. Oh, fuck.

So much, so young, I've faced on my own  
Walls I built up became my home  
I'm strong and I'm sure there's a fire in us  
Sweet love, so pure

I catch my breath with just one beating heart  
And I embrace myself, please don't tear this apart

I found a man I can trust and boy, I believe in us  
I am terrified to love for the first time  
Can you see that I'm bound in chains?  
I've finally found my way

I am bound to you  
I am bound to

When the door opened and Harlan came in, he saw the jagged haircut, but his assessment of Hawkes beauty was not unlike that of Anders, her features even more pronounced without the distraction of that glorious hair. She stood in the center of the room clothed in silk that shimmered and clung to her body, his tongue unknowingly licked his lips in anticipation.

He paused at the utter lack of emotion in her eyes, just a silent perusal that acknowledged his arrival and then dismissal. Anger threatened his control but he let none of that show as he stepped to the desk and opened a drawer to draw out silken blood red cords that he began attaching to each of Hawkes wrists. She made no move to fight him, she said nothing when he drew her to the bed and secured her to each post, arms spread and bearing most of her weight.

There was no gentleness in the ways that he touched her and no end to his pawing of her skin. Her mind remained a blank sheet of paper, a dark void that beckoned when the pain threatened her sanity. She thought of Anders as Harlan pulled out of her, bloody and still hard, not wanting to end his fun with a simple fuck. She felt the tears sliding down her cheeks and Harlan’s harsh laughter as he licked them from her face. She had one moment in her life to cling to against the darkness, a simple innocent kiss against the depraved monster that began tying her lower body further until she lay suspended above the bed, arms and legs now both spread far apart before he began all over again. She did not hear herself scream when he bit into her flesh and pounded into her with his greater bulk. She was lost.

Suddenly the moment's here, I embrace my fears  
All that I have been carrying all these years  
Do I risk it all? Come this far just to fall? Fall

I have entrusted, boy, I believe in us  
I am terrified to love for the first time  
Can you see that I'm bound in chains?  
And finally found my way

I am bound to you  
I am, ooh I am  
I'm bound to you


	14. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Bioware owns the characters of the Dragon Age Series, and I give them all credit for their creation, I have taken the female Hawke character in a direction not allowed by the game. So, in that, this is my contribution to the many wonderful stories published here. This is not a cannon story, but my particular brand of crazy as I love veering from the norm. I thank you all in advance if you have read this walk of discovery for Marion Hawke

Marion became aware of her surroundings as if a mist was lifting; everything was gray fog with darker shadows that flitted into her vision, jumping from point to point until she could not track them. It was easier to just meld into the fog and float in nothingness; her mind fought the thought of leaving the emptiness, refused to hear the moan of protest that escaped dry cracked lips. Nothing mattered here, this was better.

However, the illusion of mist dissolved and light stabbed into her eyes like daggers and she threw her arm across her face to block the offending rays and spit out the sand that fell into her face. She was lying on a beach under the sun, the sound of the surf as it crashed into the cliffs filling her ears. It was still cool, probably morning; somewhere higher up on the coastline birds called to each other, a lonely sound with no answer.

She could not recall immediately why she was here. A feeling of foreboding started in the pit of her gut and radiated outwards as she did remember a little; but the pictures refused to come clear as her mind once again refused the knowledge. The memories were a bit like smoke; murky and unfocused, constantly shifting so she could not see the full picture. If the ligature marks on her wrists were any indication, maybe it was better not to remember.

She began testing each joint, first clenching and unclenching muscle that told her that any fighting would be a bad idea. So, with careful deliberation, she rose to a sitting position; sand flying into her face from the winds that constantly buffeted the coast. Onto her knees next but her stomach rebelled and she pushed herself onto hands and knees waiting for it to pass. Sweat broke out and she trembled with the effort not to throw up; she hated throwing up. She was in no condition to travel and Kirkwall was at least an hour’s walk on a good day, and this was definitely not a good day.

She did not recognize the clothing she wore; brown leather breeches that hugged her hips and thighs with a matching vest that was intricately stamped with fanciful swirls, dark ribbing with laces at the sides. The vest was low cut revealing her breasts scandalously and was not long enough, exposing her midriff as well. Her mother would be horrified. Her weapons however did not come with the outfit and she cursed under her breath. An unarmed, injured woman, traipsing about the coast was just asking for trouble.

A wisp of hair blew across her eyes and she batted it away impatiently. Then it hit her; Anders cutting her hair, running away, then … nothing. She closed her eyes against the clear memory of Anders but they shot open at the sound of footsteps in the sand.

Three men, scavengers by the dirty, disheveled look of them, were smiling as they walked towards her from the slight rise of sand above. Hawke answered their smiles with a feral grin of her own that gave the three a moment’s pause.

“Looks like dessert is early today boys,” They all chuckled to themselves as the middle one grasped his groin and they surrounded her. “I don’t think we were the first from the look of her, but we will be the last!” Hawke could not quite explain what happened next; her mind seemed to expand and everything slowed to a crawl as her eyes became pools of fire. Every molecule around her responded as she grasped the very air and with one stroke, all three men bent over double before Hawke made a small turn of the wrist, slamming them all against the rocks. As the men lay senseless, Hawke approached the man who had spoken and removed the blade from his hand before stepping onto his throat with her boot. It did not matter though; his sightless eyes taunted her no longer.

Hawke looked at the three dead men, then at her hand that held the blade. Magic, of all the things that could go wrong, this one probably topped them all. She had killed in self-defense before, then again during the flight from Ostagar with Carver but this was different; she had no blood or physical signs that she had killed. She laughed aloud, not caring that it sounded half-crazed. The grin that stayed upon on her face gave her the look of one possessed, and the triumph in her eyes made her look more alive than she had in days.

If she could figure out this new talent, she would never have to be a victim again. Blades could still cut, but mixed with magic, she could strike as no one could suspect until it was too late. 

Still smiling she searched all three men, taking the few meager items, namely their weapons; she began the trek towards Kirkwall. The Maker had a cruel sense of humor. As the full idea of having magic penetrated her, Hawke saw the outskirts of Kirkwall ahead and stopped cold. Where could she go now? She needed time, and a safe place, but could think of neither. Templars were everywhere in Kirkwall.

Her family would be worried by now, if Harlan had kept his word. At least it gave her something else to focus on. She would go to Lowtown and check on her family, then to the Hanged Man where she still had her room. One-step in front of the other, one thing at a time, her mind rebelled at anything more complicated.

One month later ……..

Hawke watched the dark doorway with interest. No one had left since the family with the small boy had gone and now the lantern over the door went out. She had been doing this for three days; waiting until Anders closed the clinic and then tried get enough gumption to face him at last. 

She had been reading her father’s journals and talking with Bethany but she had told no one of her abilities specifically; she had never heard of a mage who could manipulate air. So far, her father’s journals had been helpful only in the direction of what not to do, and nothing on her strange talent. Bethany only knew her sister was now a mage, but not how, thank the Maker she did not press for further details.

Sighing she began walking towards the clinic. She needed an apostate’s services, and she needed a healer, she had no choice but to seek him out, damn her pride anyway.

She tapped on the door lightly but there was no response. She quickly picked the flimsy lock and let herself in quietly, relocking the door as she closed it softly. The room was larger than she expected; several empty cots stood about but it was clean, though sparse on the amenities. The sound of water splashing reached her ears from the back of the room.

Silently she went to the back and saw a small alcove covered by a worn curtain that fit imperfectly across the doorway. She saw Anders, shirtless, with his back to her as he washed from a basin. He was too thin; his narrowed waist punctuated by well-defined muscle, but it was obvious he was not eating well. The tips of her fingers seemed to pulse with a life of their own so that she fisted her hands at her sides trying to ignore the swelling of her heart at the mere sight of him. She waited until Anders had dressed and then coughed to announce her presence. Anders jumped and came about, staff in hand, so quickly that she had turned to brace for an attack, never suspecting he could move that fast.

When he saw her, his eyes widened and he hesitated before placing the staff back against the wall and opening the curtain all of the way. They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity and Hawke allowed the want to pulse like fire in her veins in that stretch of time. Not even sure what she wanted; his lips were slightly apart as he eyed her in evident shock, his honey-hued eyes dark and unreadable. It was not even about sex, it was deeper; a desire to hold and to be held, to have that sanctuary of trust, just the simple act of taking his hand and feeling his warmth next to her skin was enough. She was out of her fucking mind.

“Anders?” Her voice seemed to shake him from his stance and he shoved past her into the larger clinic area.

“Why are you here?” He asked, an anguished sound, filled with despair. He kept his back to her.

“I need a favor.” She ventured.

“A favor,” Suspicion entered his voice as he turned to face her once more and crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of favor?”

“You are a healer; I need your … skills.” She bit her lip, trying to get out what she had to say. She had never uttered the words before now, and they stuck in her throat at the possibility of having to tell him. She could say them, but somehow that made the nightmare even worse.

As Hawke struggled to tell Anders why she needed a healer, he saw signs that he had missed upon her surprising arrival; she had lost weight, her clothes hung on her already slight frame. The oversized linen blouse that she wore underneath a leather vest did not quite cover the leather straps around both wrists. She looked, lost. Her hair was still cut in the same haphazard way; making no effort to clean it up. One large strand fell to land across the bridge of her nose and he ached to brush it from her face.

Hawke took a deep breath and decided just say it. Anders could never want her, especially after knowing what she had done at the Blooming Rose, or with Harlan. Her heart tightened at the thought, but it was truly unlikely any man would want her now.

“I’m pregnant.” She blurted it out and then turned to pace the room in front of him, avoiding his gaze. She did not want to see his pity or his revulsion. “I need you to get rid of it.” She spat the last out as the revulsion she felt nearly overwhelmed her.

“Alright, but it is not going to be pleasant.” He said this softly and Hawke paused in her pacing to raise her face to the heavens as her emotions played on the gentleness of that voice. “It is more about a potion than any actual magic though.”

“Do you have this potion?” She asked, her eyes still closed still facing skyward.

“I’m sorry Hawke, no, but I can get the ingredients together by tomorrow if you have the coin to purchase them.”

Reaching into the pouch at her belt, she placed two sovereigns onto the nearest cot and made for the door without ever meeting his eyes.

“I’ll be back then.” She told him before letting herself out the door, never once meeting his eyes. She must despise him as much as he despised himself for abandoning her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A writer needs feedback. Without the contributions of my friends, this story would not have been written half so well. I thank you all for your suggestions (you know who you are!), as it pushed me to do better, seek more, until all of my heart has wrapped around this story. Thank you doesn't half cover it.


	15. Starting Over

She should have asked more questions, Hawke supposed; what would happen when she drank the potion, how long before she was on her feet again? Instead she had run, like a weak child avoiding the inevitable punishment that came from bad choices. 

Still, Marion found herself waiting for the lantern to extinguish before knocking at the clinic door. This time Anders was there almost immediately. Hawke kept her face averted, eyes down when she squeezed past him before he had fully opened the door and her breath caught in her throat as her shoulder brushed lightly against his chest on her way through. It had not been deliberate, and the contact made them both jump away from each other. 

Hawke waited while Anders locked the clinic doors; her arms locked about her chest as she rocked on the balls of her feet impatiently. Anders finally locked it to his satisfaction before turning on his heel and made for the back of the clinic without a word, expecting her to follow. When she had watched him for those few days, she had learned very little and worried over the mystery he wore like a cloak. A free clinic was unheard of and fiercely protected by the Ferelden refugees he helped. He spent little to no money on himself, had no vices, and rarely left the confines of the clinic except when a patient could not move. Why did he do it? An apostate operating in the open was risking a great deal and she could discover no reason that drove him to do it. 

She was so preoccupied thinking of Anders’ peculiar circumstance that she practically ran into him when he turned towards her. Anders grasped her arms to steady her when she nearly fell over a crate and she stiffened at his touch. It was dark, only two candles were burning, little enough light to illuminate the dark room so she could excuse her awkwardness.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked her, his voice racing along the nerves of her spine. Hawke had tried to feel nothing at all about the abomination growing in her womb, and it only sickened her to contemplate it any deeper. She wanted it gone. Her face became a hard mask of determination; eyes darkened, mouth pursed in disgust.

“Yes.” Hawke had an inkling of what went on while in Harlan’s care, but felt no compulsion to discuss something she did not want to remember, but the blank spots in her mind made her uneasy; as if her mind had split and then gnawed at itself as it tried to reknit the fabric of who she was. She had no interest in the woman she had been then, she was too busy with whom she had become; and she was not even sure who that person was yet. Her brain refused to wrap around the idea of being a mage. 

Anders reached into his coat and pulled out a vial filled with a blackish green substance. She wrinkled her nose at the sight; sure it was going to taste as bad as it looked. When she reached for the vial Anders pulled his arm back so it was just out of reach and then held his palm out to stop her advancing on him.

“What now?” Her voiced rose in agitation and she glared at him. Anders shook his head but kept the vial out of reach.

“This is poison; you are going to become very ill not long after taking it. I think you should stay just to be safe.” 

“Your concern is, touching, but I can deal with this, I will be fine.” She reached for the vial again only to be denied by his longer reach. “Anders …” Her voice dropped, and her eyes narrowed, matching the anger beginning to burn deep and he felt the implied threat in her tone. The very air between them seemed to thicken with tension.

Hawke could feel her pulse rise and her anger simmered as if her blood would boil and erupt. She turned from Anders and headed back out into the clinic, anything to try stave off her temper, one that lately manifested in disastrous results. Anders made her feel many things, none of them simple; want, hurt, anger, need all rolled into a ball of disastrous proportions.

If there was a potion, she could find it from another source; Tom Wise maybe, although the fewer who knew the better. Striding quickly for the locked doors her mind searched for answers, already dismissing Anders as an answer when she refused to trust him that far again. Her temper cooled as quickly as it had come now that she focused on leaving, one step at a time, do not think about now, or tomorrow; just keep moving.

When Anders hand grabbed her arm and turned her to face him, she immediately defended herself; with one arc of her arm, she had taken the very air and pushed him from her. She was surprised at how far he flew into the air but was dismayed when he hit against one of the many columns around the clinic and fell in a heap. When she took a step towards his prone body, he stirred and began blazing in an eerie blue light that crackled with energy. _Oh, shit._ A pair of battling mages was sure to bring the templars and she was not confident enough in her new abilities to take on another mage. Quicker than Anders could track she moved with lightning speed and was gone. 

Hawke went straight back to Lowtown and the Hanged Man. She grabbed a single ale from Norah and went to her room where she paced, the ale forgotten on the bedstead. She hugged her arms about her middle and chewed her bottom lip worrying over what to do next. She was surprised when there was a knock on the door and Anders was on the other side waiting.

“We need to talk.” He announced before pushing his way in and shoving the door closed behind him. When he spun around to face her she was astonished; he was not angry, just sad, his eyes had not their normal honey glow and his face was a mask of nothingness as if every emotion purposefully stricken from him had left a husk in its wake. “You didn’t tell me you were a mage.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“That is because I wasn’t a mage until a few weeks ago.” She responded just as quietly and allowed herself to sink into a chair where she pointedly looked away from him. She reached for the ale and drank deeply before continuing. “Until a few weeks ago I was just another blade trying to keep my family from harm and my sister out of the Gallows.” Anders sank into the other chair the room provided and sighed heavily. He brushed away a loose strand of hair from his eyes and shook his head. When their eyes met this time, she held his gaze defiantly.

“How did you find me so quickly?” She ventured to ask. Anders ignored the question, his eyes bored into hers in silent contemplation.

“You aren’t the only one who can check up on someone.” Hawke left the statement unchallenged; obviously, Anders had more resources than she was aware of.

“Your sister is a mage, as was your father, if I remember right.” Hawke only watched him. “Did your father train you at all, as a precaution?” Anders probed.

“Yes.” Anders hated the terse responses but felt helpless in the face of her pain and anger. For Hawke, she always seemed to veer from anger to the impulse to crawl into his lap for comfort, neither was an option and she vowed silently to get ahold of herself.

“I was serious about staying around after you take this potion.” He reminded her as he held up the vial.

And I was just as serious when I told you no.” She responded flatly. “I can get it elsewhere if that is a condition of your assistance.” The last thing she wanted was to have Anders close when she was vulnerable.

“You could die.” He told her. “I know that you probably don’t care about that right now …”

“How in hell should you know how I feel or don’t feel?” Hawke jumped to her feet and she shook from the sheer effort not to lose her temper again.

“It was a long time ago, but something similar happened to me in the Circle tower in Ferelden.” He looked down at his jacket and fussed at the buckles and buttons before continuing. “Suicide was in my thoughts a lot the first few days, then denial, then anger.” His voice trailed off and he braced his hand under his chin, contemplating the walls, the tabletop, anything but Hawke.

Hawke could take many things, but compassion brought too many emotions close to the surface where her mind refused to go. “I can’t.” She told him, her voice breaking as she reined in the tears. 

Anders knew what she felt, knew that she could not trust him, especially when he had run off the way he had. He hung his head in shame. Wanting to ease that pain for her the way he should have that night, the way he wished someone had for him. Reaching out he grasped her hand in his larger one, holding tight when she resisted. He poured healing energies into her, giving everything he had. He would not make the same mistake twice; she would be strong enough or she would not, but either way he would remain at her side.

Marion tried to pull her hand away but froze when she felt the touch of his magic flow into her. It was a healing spell, but she began to feel stronger, her mind steadier than before as he revitalized her spirit. His touch was gentler than Bethany’s was, and more thorough. She remembered her father; rushing to her side when she had fallen in the loft and broken her leg at the age of seven, he had the same concentration and empathy on his face that she saw echoed in Anders.

When the next memories came, they roiled in a profusion of pain and lust, her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she relived the violating filth as they touched her. Before she lost herself reliving the nightmare, she felt the steady pulse of energies as if Anders now set the pace of what and how much flowed into her consciousness. All the shame, the hurt were separate from the acts that crossed her vision, until she saw the whole picture of those few days and denied its hold over her now; becoming tougher, sturdier; a mechanism of her own fate, no longer the victim.

Even after the magic ebbed and Anders merely held her hand, that touch was an anchor and she clung to it. He was close enough that she brought her hand to touch his face and smiled when he leaned into her hand as a kitten would when petted. She smiled, a sad smile, but a smile all the same.

Anders rose and pulled her to her feet. When he lifted her chin, he saw the tears had streaked down her pale cheeks and he did what he had wanted to do since that night. He held her. Hawke laid her head against his chest and they each wrapped their arms around the other. He smelled of soap, and his own musky odor that filled her nostrils as she breathed deeply, her mind strangely quiet.

“Thank you.” She whispered into his feathered pauldrons before pulling back and wrinkling her nose as the feathers tickled her. She rubbed her nose furiously to avoid sneezing and missed the fact the Anders had the vial in his hand and was holding it out towards her.

Hawke accepted the vial this time and did not ask him to leave. When the cramps caused her to double over in pain he was there to soothe, to wipe the sweat from her brow, to keep her calm as she expelled the filth inside her.

When she slept, he sat keeping watch, a silent vigil, at least on the outside. Inside Anders warred with the urge to slip out unnoticed, and for once, he won the fight. As his own mind quieted, he simply stared at Hawke’s sleeping form, memorizing every line, every angle to her face. When she wakened, he would leave and never seek her out again, but until then he could wish for what he had sworn he was not worth; love.

One week later …

Hawke watched with narrowed eyes as the dwarf Bartrand walked away. His expedition was reportedly going into the deep roads and she was desperate to get in on this one lead of a job with a potentially big payoff. Bartrand was being an ass, living up to his reputation, when he refused her or Bethany a spot on his team. Bethany was fearful of the templars; they had been canvasing Lowtown for apostates and they needed to either get out of town or find enough coin to be unassailable. 

Hawke was racking her brain for a way around the problem when another man in the square jostled her. Seconds later, she realized he had cut the purse at her belt with what little coin they did have and was running away at a fair clip.

“Hey!” Hawke shouted and began to run after the fool, Bethany hot on her heels.

They both stopped up short when an arrow shot out from behind a pillar and pinned the boy to the wall by his shirtsleeves. Fancy trick, that, Hawke mused as she watched yet another dwarf assail the youth; taking her purse and punching the lad square in the jaw. He also retrieved his arrow and casually dismissed the lad as unimportant when he turned towards herself and Bethany, nonchalantly tossing the coin purse, which Hawke caught neatly.

“Hello, my name is Varric Thethras ….”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Retln8 for her invaluable input as my Beta Reader and Editor - but mostly for being a friend, and who, without their valuable input, this story would not read half so well.


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